


Blank White Spaces

by EveryDarkCorner



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Domestic Violence, F/M, Forced Bonding, I will take care of you, Imprisonment, Intersex, M/M, Master/Slave, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Oral Sex, SladeRobinWeekend 2019, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 58
Words: 85,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDarkCorner/pseuds/EveryDarkCorner
Summary: When a virus decimates the omega population, Robin is sold to alpha Slade Wilson as breeding stock.First three chapters written for SladeRobin Weekend 2019!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Doing something a bit different for SladeRobin Weekend this time! I'll be filling out all the prompts in one story, with each chapter ticking another prompt. (And, because I'm ridiculous and allowed this fic to spin out of control, two extra chapters to finish the story off.)
> 
> Enjoy! x

The cell wasn’t that bad.

               No bars, for one thing.  The window was fogged glass, wires criss-crossing through the pane so Robin couldn’t smash through it.  The bed squeaked, but the mattress wasn’t too stained or lumpy, and the metal toilet in the corner was clean.  The food that came through the slot on the door was edible, and the empty plate vanished quickly when Robin pushed it back.

               It was better than the cells in Belle Reve, or even Arkham.

               And sure, he hadn’t seen another human being in nearly a week.  He’d spent hours making his bed, tucking in perfect hospital corners and fluffing the anaemic pillow, only to wrench all the blankets off and start again.  Because he’d already read all the names scratched into the paint on the back of the door, and searched the ceiling for loose panels, and screamed until his voice was raw.

               The loneliness was like a constant, burning ache in his chest.  An ache for pizza, and friends crammed together on the sofa, and alarms blaring to give him purpose.  And the memory of omega after omega lined up outside this grey building, hands cuffed and eyes dry and weary, was like a tight fist around his throat, choking.

               ‘This is for your own safety,’ the cop had said as he pushed Robin into the back of the car, after that last riot.  ‘No one’s going to hurt you.’

               The last thing he saw was Starfire.  Eyes blazing green, screaming as they held her back.

               Robin dropped on the end of his squeaky bed, bowed his head and buried his face in his hands.

               No, the cell wasn’t so bad.

               It was everything else that hurt.

 

* * *

 

_The bang shook the entire street._

_Robin staggered, heat searing his skin, dust burning his throat.  The street was clogged with fallen picket signs—_ ‘STOP THE OMEGA PLAGUE!’ _and_ ‘WE NEED A CURE!’ _The air, previously heavy with omega scent, now stank of smoke and burning concrete.  A few heads lifted around him.  People pushed themselves up.  Their hair was white with powder.  Like snow._

_Another bang.  This time Robin didn’t fall.  Didn’t feel the heat of the explosion._

               _Bang.  Bang._ BANG!

               Robin jolted out of the squeaky bed.  Those weren’t explosions.

               Someone was pounding on the door.

               ‘Richard Grayson!’  The voice was sharp, muffled through the heavy door.  ‘Stand in the centre of room, hands on your head, and do not move.’

               Robin hesitated, wincing at his real name.  Not, he supposed, that he’d been _Robin_ for several days now.  Not since they ripped off his mask and replaced his uniform with grey sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt.

               Then, as the bolt opened behind the door with a heavy thud, Robin raised his hands and settled them on his head.

               _Don’t antagonise them._

               The omegas who hadn’t learned fast enough were easy to spot, as they’d queued up outside days ago.  They were the ones with black eyes.  Bruised wrists.  Dried blood staining their lips and nostrils.

               Robin had been proud, at the time, to be one of them.

               The guard who stepped in wasn’t familiar, but his blue uniform was.  His small eyes flicked down Robin’s body and back up.  ‘Stay where you are.  Don’t turn around.’

               As he marched past Robin to the squeaky bed, Robin spotted another man standing outside.  Same uniform.  Same badge.  Same baton tucked into his belt.  Robin pressed his lips together.  He could dart out that door.  Grab the baton.  Run.

               And then … fight his way through an entire prison complex.  Somehow.

               He didn’t move.

               ‘How long are you keeping us here?’  The words came out quiet and dry.

               ‘Until an alpha comes to claim you.’  The security guard tugged at Robin’s sheets, searching.  As if Robin could possibly have contraband.  Next, he checked the windowsill, under the bed, around the toilet.

               Robin let out a breath.  Starfire was an alpha.  Cyborg, too, and Bruce.  They’d come for him.  ‘How soon are they allowed to come?’

               The guard outside the door snorted.  ‘Alphas have been coming since day one.  You’re one of the last, Boy Wonder.’

               The room seemed to drop away around him.  One of the last …?  Impossible.  Robin shook his head.

               ‘Starfire—’

               ‘Koriand’r is Tamaranian.  Non-American citizens are not granted alpha rights.’  The guard in the doorway shifted, settling his hand on his batons.

               Robin’s stomach plummeted.  But he lifted his jaw.  ‘Then Cyborg?’

               ‘Cyborg isn’t an alpha.’

               Robin spluttered; his foot inched closer to the guard in the doorway, hands dropping from his head on instinct.  The guard behind him whipped round, hand on his baton.

               ‘I said keep still!’

               Cold swept through Robin’s body.  He pressed his hands back on his head, burying them in his hair.  It was greasy, his fingers catching in tangles.  They’d given him a toothbrush, but no comb, and no shower.  ‘Cyborg’s been an alpha his whole life.  I _lived_ with him.  He’s an alpha.’

               It’d been infuriating, at times.  The message boards demanding to know why Cyborg wasn’t the automatic leader of the Teen Titans—a fact Cyborg also liked to question, on bad days.  When he and Robin butted heads.  Cyborg’s alpha scent used to fill up the Tower on days like that, thick enough to choke.

               But he always backed down, eventually.  Always remembered that, whatever biology had decided for them, he and Robin were friends.  Alpha and omega didn’t matter half as much as that.

               Until the virus.  And the riots.  And—and _this_.

               The guard behind Robin finished searching the room and straightened.  ‘Kid, we want _real_ alphas.  Not robots with scent glands.’  He stepped up close.  ‘Feet apart.’

               Robin’s fists clenched in his hair.  ‘What the hell is a _real alpha_?’  He inched his feet apart, and gritted his teeth as the guard patted him down: one leg, then the other, then his waist, chest and shoulders.

               ‘They put the figures up on the news this morning.’  This close, the guard smelled of a whiff of beta.  Unusual.  Prison guards were usually alphas—the kind of people who could bark down another crazed alpha with a sharpened toothbrush in his hand.  Robin guessed you didn’t need alphas to control a prison full of omegas.  ‘Eighty percent of omegas dead.  And still no vaccine.’  Finally, the guard patted Robin’s stomach.  ‘So a _real alpha_ is someone who can breed you like a fucking rabbit.’

               Robin choked.  He couldn’t breathe.  Sparks flashed in his eyes.

 _No._   Surely … surely it hadn’t come to that.  In only a few days … _eighty percent_?

               The figure had been closer to fifty when he was taken.  When the riots had turned violent, and the cops started quarantining omegas in two groups: healthy, and infected.

               The guard’s voice sounded distant, echoing as if Robin was listening through deep water.  ‘You’d better get comfy, Boy Wonder.  The alphas out there are tearing each other apart for a shot at you.’

               ‘Bruce …’ Robin croaked.

               ‘Bruce Wayne is competing.  I doubt he’ll get you, though.  The guys upstairs don’t think your adoptive father will want to get you pregnant.’  The guard clapped him on the shoulder, and didn’t complain when Robin stumbled.  He must’ve seen the colour draining out of Robin’s face; the way his hands were shaking in his hair.  ‘Don’t worry, kid.  You’re one of the lucky ones.  You’re going to be looked after the rest of your life.’

               Robin’s legs folded.  The last thing he saw was the linoleum floor rushing up to meet him as he collapsed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy day two of SladeRobin Weekend! Today we're hitting the tropes "I will take care of you" and "Biting" (and I guess "Master/Slave", if you tilt your head and squint?) Enjoy! x

When Robin came round, the guards pulled his hands behind him, cuffed them, and dragged him to the infirmary.

               The tests were nothing new.  He’d sat through them once already, when he first arrived, along with every other omega queuing out the doors.  Temperature.  Blood pressure.  Check for black spots on the tongue.  Check for swollen glands.  Blood test.

               He stripped to his boxers to let the doctor scan his skin for blisters.

               ‘You’re fine,’ the doctor said, snapping off his blue latex gloves, and Robin was taken back up to his cell.

               _Fine._

               As in: not infected.

               The virus started small.  One of those sad news stories from a country far away, where the people wore different clothes and lived in different homes and ate different food, and were just _different_.  But then the black spots appeared on omega’s tongues in America.  Gotham.  Star City.

               Jump.

               The guards brought nothing new for Robin to do, so he lay on his squeaky bed, with the blankets folded and refolded to perfection underneath him, and he tried to think of Starfire.  Warm smiles and warm hands, watching the sunset together on the roof of the Tower.  Video games with Beast Boy and sweating in the gym with Cyborg.  And Raven, quietly offering him a battered copy of _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ , his favourite, which she’d found buried in a second-hand bookstore.

               ‘I know you left your copy in Gotham,’ she’d said simply.

               He’d kill for a book now.  For five minutes in the gym, or on the couch playing _Crash Warriors_ on their giant TV.

               For a single second with Starfire.

               The sunlight brightened and faded out the window, and the meals came like clockwork, and it was two more days before there was another bang on Robin’s door.

               ‘Dick Grayson!  Middle of the room, hands on your head.’

               He leaped up, throat tight.  People.  Actual people.

               The door swung open and the guard who swept his room before marched in.  He stepped right past Robin, and drew each of his arms behind him, locking them into cuffs.

               ‘What’s happening?’ Robin breathed.  ‘Is Bruce here?’

               ‘Bruce Wayne was disqualified.  Another alpha’s come to pick you up.’

               Robin let the guard push him out the door.  The corridor was dark—the overhead lights sparse and yellow, some of them flickering and sending shadows jumping over the walls.  Another guard fell into step with them as they walked.

               Another alpha.  Dick’s mind whirled as he flicked through the list of candidates.  Who?  Who would pick him up?  It had to be someone from the League.  Someone doing Bruce—Batman—a favour.  Superman was an alien—probably disqualified like Starfire.  Maybe Diana.  Or Flash.

               He straightened.  Yes.  That made sense.  Flash would take Robin, and Batman would take Kid Flash.  They could protect each other’s sidekicks.  Plenty of other League members had family or sidekicks or _someone_.  Robin lifted his chin.  Batman would have sorted something.  No way would the Justice League take all this lying down.

               Hell, they were probably halfway to finding a cure.

               Robin took a deep breath as the guards led him down a long, dark staircase, and then pushed through a set of double doors, into a wide, polished lobby with panic buttons on the walls.

               Everything was going to be OK.

               A circle of cushioned chairs were clustered in the corner opposite the reception desk, where Robin had been forced to give up his name and belongings.  A cardboard box sat there now, with _Dick Grayson_ scrawled across it in black marker.  A lone man sat on the chairs, head bowed.  Robin caught a flash of grey-white hair.  He’d never seen Flash’s hair before.  He’d always assumed it was dark.

               The guards at Robin’s sides stopped short.  ‘All finished with the paperwork?’

               The man lifted his head.  ‘Done.’

               Robin went cold.  As cold as if he’d dived into Arctic seas.  As cold as if he was shut in a drawer in the morgue.

               He knew that voice.

               His heart thundered as the man stood and turned, leaving a sheaf of stapled papers on the chair.

               ‘Then he’s all yours,’ the guard said.  ‘You’ll get monthly check-ups from a professional, but you’re expected to perform daily health checks at home.  It’s all in the information we sent you …’

               Robin didn’t hear whatever he said next.  The whole room—the whole _world_ —narrowed down to that face.  That face he’d never seen before, but instantly recognised.  A square jaw with a neatly cropped white beard; a low, serious brow over sharp grey eyes.  Or … grey _eye_.  The other was covered with a black patch, the elastic disappearing into pale hair almost long enough to ponytail.

               ‘Slade,’ he breathed.

               The guard hesitated, glancing at Robin.  His hand curled around Robin’s bicep.

               Slade’s eye flicked down to Robin—and he smiled.  ‘It’s good to see you again, Robin.’

               Robin screamed.

               He kicked out at the first guard—the one holding his arm—and caught his knee.  The guard buckled, grip falling away just in time for Robin to turn and smack his forehead into the second guard’s face.  Bone crunched, and as Robin staggered back, blood poured down the guard’s face.

               Head pounding, Robin jumped, tucking his legs, and swung his arms under his feet and forward.  When he landed, he was still handcuffed—but his hands were at least in front of him.

               He lunged for the reception desk—for the cardboard box marked with his name.  Ripping his belt out, he fumbled and he loosed a birderang, bringing it up to his shoulder.  Then he stood, gasping for breath, belt pooled at his feet.

               ‘I am not going anywhere with _him_.’

               The guard with the broken nose let out a spew of wet curses, stumbling across the room towards the panic button by the door.

               ‘No!’ Dick snapped, hoisting the birderang higher.  ‘Don’t move!’

               The guard with the broken nose stopped, pressing a hand up to his face.

               ‘Go with Mr Wilson,’ the other guard said evenly, arms spread open.  He was leaning hard on one leg—on the leg Robin’s hadn’t kicked.  ‘Or go back to your cell.’

               Robin’s stomach tightened.  The empty cell.  No human contact.  Slow, crushing boredom.

               He swallowed.

               It was better than Slade.

               Better than being … being _bred_ by Slade.

               ‘I’d rather go back to my cell.’

               The guard sighed heavily, as if he were dealing with a stroppy toddler who wouldn’t go to bed on time.  ‘Listen, Boy Wonder, you really don’t have a choice here.’  He glanced over his shoulder at Slade.  ‘Sorry about this, Mr Wilson.  They do react badly sometimes.’

               ‘Fuck you!’ Robin spat.

               ‘We usually tranquilise the troublemakers, but he’s been so well-behaved these last few days …’

               Robin’s throat caught.  _Troublemakers._   The omegas with the bruises and the bloody noses.  The ones who fought back when they were caught.  The ones who wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —believe there was no way to escape.

               The ones like him.

               ‘Tranquilisers won’t be necessary,’ Slade said.  ‘I can control him.’

               He stalked forward, brushing past the guards in spite of their squawked protests.  The jeans and t-shirt were unfamiliar, but the way he walked was ingrained in Robin’s memory like a stain.  Armour or no armour, uniform or no uniform, Slade walked like predator.

               ‘Stay back,’ Robin growled, ‘or I’ll take out your other eye.’

               ‘Try it.’  Slade didn’t stop.  ‘Go on, Robin.  _Try._ ’

               Robin threw the birderang.

               A week out of practise and handcuffs barely counted as a handicap.  Training with Batman, Robin would’ve made that shot hanging upside-down, blindfolded.  The birderang let it out a piercing whistle as it wheeled through the air at Slade’s face.

               And Slade caught it.

               Metal thumped on skin.  Slade held the birderang up, blood trickling from his fingers into his broad palm.  The sharp edge had sliced through his skin.

               He lowered his arm, and the birderang hit the floor with a sad, metallic clatter.

               Robin lunged.

               Slade blocked the first kick, and side-stepped the second.  Robin snarled, arms drawn in close, wishing he could throw a decent punch.  Wishing he’d grabbed his bo-staff.  As Slade lashed out, one fist then the other, Robin danced back.  He ducked, snatching up his belt.  Fumbled.  Birderang.  Smoke bomb.  _Anything._

               Slade caught the front of his t-shirt.

               Robin yelped as Slade dragged him in.  He tensed, waiting for Slade to throw him aside; preparing to catch himself on his toes and whip back round.  Instead, Slade locked one arm around Robin’s waist, buried his other hand in Robin’s hair, and yanked Robin’s head back.

               Their bodies pressed together, and Robin’s skin crawled.  Alpha scent hit him like a wall, so strong he tasted it on the back of his tongue.  A tiny shiver went up his spine—omega instincts whispering, _‘That’s enough, now do as Alpha tells you_.’  He snarled, and kicked at Slade’s shins.

               Slade bowed his head.

               Robin’s ribs collapsed around his heart.  Slade’s nose brushed against the sensitive skin under his ear, close to his scent glands, and Robin went still.  He wouldn’t—he _wouldn’t—_

               Lips brushed his throat.

               Robin bucked, twisting his head away.  ‘Slade—no—’

               Slade bit down.

               Red lights flashed behind Robin’s eyes.  He shrieked and thrashed, beating at Slade’s chest with his arms trapped between them.  He kicked downward, aiming to dig his heel into Slade’s toes.  But even when he struck Slade’s boot, Slade didn’t let go.  His teeth tightened on Robin’s throat, burning deeper and deeper.  And then—

               The slick, sharp pain of teeth breaking through skin.

               Robin went limp.

               Blood pounded in his head, but his hands were suddenly numb.  His bones dissolved; his legs sagged underneath him, and Slade’s grip around his waist tightened, holding him up.  It was all Robin could do to breathe—in-out-in-out-in-out, short and rapid.  His eyes burned and it was a moment before he realised tears were creeping down his cheeks.

               Slade held on longer than he needed to.  Robin’s throat throbbed, and he felt warm, wet trickles slip under the collar of his t-shirt.  Opening the hand buried in Robin’s hair, Slade brushed his thumb slowly, deliberately, over the scent gland under Robin’s ear.  Once.  Twice.  Again.  _Again._ Each touch burned, sending shocks radiating through Robin’s skin, down into the bite.  Slowly, Robin forced his shaking hands to open, and curled his fingers into Slade’s t-shirt.

_Stop.  Stop, I’m done.  Stop._

               Finally, _finally_ , Slade loosed his jaw.  Robin whimpered at the fresh spike of pain as cool air hit him.

               Slade brushed a kiss into his hair.  ‘I’m going to take good care of you, Robin.’

               Robin tried to answer, but all that came out was a soft, high noise that sounded distinctly _omega_.

               Worse.  _Defeated_ omega.

               Keeping an arm around Robin’s waist, Slade turned to look at the guards.  ‘If you’re happy with the paperwork …?’

               The guards were barely more than a blur to Robin; two indistinct blue shapes somewhere beyond the haze of pain and screaming omega hormones.  Their voices wobbled in and out of focus, like someone turning the volume up and down on the TV.

               Robin sagged against Slade’s side.  The floor rocked underneath him like the deck of a ship, or like the T-Jet when Beast Boy tried to make them do a barrel roll.  He was tired.  He was tired, and he hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into oblivion.

               He didn’t realise his legs had truly given out until Slade bent and scooped them up, swinging Robin into his arms bridal-style.  Robin’s head lolled against Slade’s shoulder, and he realised too late how close that put him to Slade’s scent glands, as the smell of alpha blasted into his face.  Savoury; a little bitter.  And too strong.  Like coffee with sour milk.

               He felt whatever Slade was saying rumble through his chest, but didn’t hear the words.  He felt the handcuffs click off his wrists, but only drew his arms in close and curled his fingers in Slade’s t-shirt.  He felt Slade walk out of the building, but didn’t look up as the doors swished open and sweet, fresh air filled his lungs.

               He didn’t glance back at the building where he’d been held prisoner.

               Slade eased him into the back of a cab, then slid in beside him.  The driver must’ve known their destination, because Slade only said, ‘Let’s go.’

               Reaching across the seats, Slade took Robin’s shoulder and drew him down, until Robin’s head rested in his lap, his legs tucked up against the cab door.

               Robin mumbled, ‘Seatbelt,’ and Slade laughed.  The sound was low, and surprisingly soft.

               ‘Don’t worry about that.’  Slade slipped his fingers into Robin’s hair, brushing briefly over the bite on his neck and ignoring when Robin shuddered.  ‘I’ve got you.’

               Robin closed his eyes.  Slade’s hand moved in his hair, slow and possessive.

_—breed you like a fucking rabbit—_

               ‘I’ve got you.’

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's the last day of SladeRobin Weekend, but not the last chapter! I don't know if I'll be able to crack out the future chapters every day, but I'll upload them as soon as I can. :)
> 
> Today's prompt was "Forced Bonding".

The haze had mostly worn off by the time they arrived, although Robin never lifted his head off Slade’s lap.

               He watched flashes of the sky through the window.  Serene blue, dotted with clouds so thick and fluffy he could imagine burying his hands in them, ripping off a chunk and taking a bite.

               He didn’t need Slade to lift him out the car, but he didn’t bother to complain.  Slade kept a hand on his arm even once Robin was on his feet, and Robin wondered if he expected him to collapse, or run.

               The hotel was bright and clean, and Slade threw a jacket over Robin’s shoulders and tugged the collar up to hide his bloody neck before walking in.

               Robin followed him quietly.  It’d be easiest to run when Slade was talking to the reception clerk—but the room must’ve already been booked, because Slade walked right past, drawing Robin into the elevator at the back of the room.

               ‘Five stars,’ Slade murmured, his hand sliding to Robin’s lower back.  ‘A little better than that cage they had you in.’

               Robin swallowed, and said nothing.  Five stars.  Sure.  A five star prison.

               When the elevator doors swished open, he let Slade steer him down the hallway, to a door that clicked open when Slade swiped a card over the handle.  Slade nudged Dick inside.

               White walls, white carpet, white bed.  A white orchid sprayed out of a vase next to the TV—the black screen the only dark spot in a blazing, blinding white haze.  Shutting the door behind them, Slade set a hand on Dick’s shoulder and drew him past the bed— _one bed_ , Dick realized with numb horror—and into an equally blinding white-tiled bathroom.

               A crystalline shower cubicle glittered in the corner, but Slade reached for the cavernous bathtub, flicking on the taps.  ‘Let’s clean you up.’

               Robin shuddered as Slade slipped the jacket off his shoulders.  He backed away.  ‘I can take a bath myself.’

               ‘You’re my omega,’ Slade said.  ‘I have a duty of care.’

               Robin snorted, but the sound was quiet.  Weak, even to his own ears.  He pressed a hand to his neck—to the still-throbbing mark there.  ‘Like hell you do.’

               ‘If you intend to be difficult,’ Slade’s voice dropped to a growl, each syllable dripping with _alpha_ , ‘we can repeat that bite.  As many times as we have to.’

               Robin closed his eyes, muscles tensing as he fought the urge to curl up small.  To whimper.  To _beg_.  ‘No,’ he croaked.

               ‘Well then.’  Slade beckoned.

               Skin crawling, throat tight, Robin stepped closer.  He let Slade grab the back of his t-shirt, and pull it off over his head.  And then, as Slade crouched, reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants, Robin turned away and stared into steaming water.  He closed his eyes.  Stepped out of his sweatpants, one foot at a time.  Then out of his boxers.

               Face flaming, he gritted his teeth and fought the ache building behind his eyes.  He flicked his eyes up, glaring into the blazing ceiling lights.  He wasn’t going to cry.  He was _not_ going to cry.

               Slade didn’t touch him.  Just reached out, swirled his fingers in the bath water, and then flicked off the taps.  ‘Get in.’

               Robin didn’t miss the way his tone had hardened.  He stepped into the bath and slipped down, curling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.  Trying to cover as much as possible.  There were no suds in the hot water; nothing but odd ripples to hide his bare skin.

               Ripping open a complementary washcloth, Slade dunked it in the water before reaching for Robin’s bloody throat.  Robin flinched, the water sloshing as he grabbed the far edge of the bath.  But Slade made a low, sharp noise of warning, and Robin swallowed, and drifted back, fists clenched.

               Each brush of the washcloth was like fingernails raking across his shredded skin.  Robin bit his tongue, and squeezed his eyes closed.

               Slade’s other hand slipped up the back of Robin’s neck, into his hair.  ‘Shout if you want.  You don’t have to be quiet for me.’

               Instead, the sound that burst out of Robin was a sob.  He brought a hand up to his face, turning away, as if that would hide it.  As if Slade couldn’t see his shaking shoulders, or hear his hitching breath.

               Slade didn’t say anything; only hummed tunelessly to himself.  Robin wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a song, or simply a sound of satisfaction, but it at least went halfway towards drowning out the sobs that shook through Robin’s chest.

               Finally, Slade lowered the washcloth, draping it over the edge of the bath.  Robin glanced over.  It was crimson.  Trails of pinkish water dripped from the cloth into the water.  Onto the pristine bathmat on the other side.

               Slade rose to his feet, and Robin kept staring down at the washcloth, shivering despite the heat of the bath.  So he didn’t notice Slade stripping his clothes off, until he dropped his t-shirt on the floor.

               Robin’s eyes flicked up.  Up, over the hard muscles of Slade’s torso.  Over the silvery lines of scars and the fuzz of hair dusting his chest.  ‘What’re you doing?’

               ‘Getting in with you.’  Slade slid down the zip on his jeans, then shucked them down over his hips, taking the grey boxer shorts underneath with them.  ‘The bath is big enough.’

               ‘No.’  Robin grabbed the sides of the bath, fingers clenching on the porcelain to lift him up out of the water.  ‘No way.’

               ‘ _Stay down._ ’

               The words snapped like breaking branches.  Robin sank back into the water, gut clenching.  As if reacting to Slade’s command, his neck seared.

               Slade stepped in behind him, and Robin closed his eyes and bowed his head, and tried and _tried_ not to start crying again.

               It should have been Starfire.

               Starfire should have taken him from that prison.  Should have taken him back to Titan’s Tower, where he could shower in five seconds and then climb into bed with her, still damp but warm and beaming, his arms curling around her waist and his nose buried in her long hair.

               Slade’s legs stretched out either side of Robin’s body, and Robin glanced and then closed his eyes, and tried not to think about it.  Tried not to think about the tickle of leg hair, or the tight pressure of Slade’s thighs around his hips, or the warmth of Slade’s body against his back.  He lowered his head, burying his hands in his hair.  _It should’ve been Starfire.  It should’ve been Star._

               Warm, wet hands landed on his ribs, and Robin’s breath hitched and then he couldn’t breathe at all.  He gritted his teeth, trembling.  Slade’s hands climbed up his body.  Over his shoulders.  Down the length of his arms.

               His fingers curled between Robin’s and eased his fists open.  Then Slade set one hand on Robin’s chest, and one on his forehead, and he drew him back until their bodies pressed together.  Until Slade could brush his lips over Robin’s ear.

               ‘Relax,’ he murmured.  ‘I’m not going to fuck you here in the bath.’

               Robin choked.  Pressure throbbed at the front of his head and despite what Slade said, he could feel a distressingly hard shape pressing into his lower back.

               Slipping his hands up, Slade pressed his fingertips into Robin’s shoulders.  Robin tensed, and then tensed harder as Slade tightened his grip, then loosened it.  Massaging the muscles, and casually avoiding the bite.  Robin ground his teeth, cutting off one groan after another as Slade dug his fingers in deeper, working into muscles that’d gone ignored for days while he sat in a cell, staring at the walls.

               His hands slipped higher, up over Robin’s neck.

               He pressed his fingers into Robin’s scent glands.

               Robin cried out.  Couldn’t help it—the yelp was as sharp and sudden as the sparks that shot down his spine.  Slade pressed in again, gentler, and Robin held back a groan for all of two seconds, until Slade started moving his fingertips in slow, rhythmic circles.

               The tub and the bathroom and the five star dazzling-white hotel melted away.  Robin sank back into Slade’s chest.  Slade’s moved his fingers as if it were second nature, pressing in hard as he circled upwards, tracing softly as he swirled back down.  And after moment, Robin felt as though his heartbeat was slowing down to follow that rhythm, the tight ache in his chest expanding to a sluggish _thump … thump … thump …_

               He tilted his head back onto Slade’s shoulder.  Slade was playing dirty, and some part of him knew that.  Knew that he ought to slap Slade’s hands away, and leap out of the tub and run.  But the rest of him was a worn-down, bitten omega, pressed close to an alpha’s naked body, and _it_ wanted to stay right here, to turn around and nuzzle into Alpha’s neck, and let Alpha hold him close and safe.

               Slade lifted a hand away, and reached back to rub against his own neck.  He stretched his arm out over Robin’s shoulder, and dangled his fingers over Robin’s face.

               The alpha scent was overwhelming.  For a moment, Robin went _blind_.

               He opened he mouth and groaned, curling up closer into Slade without thought.  The water swished around his body, and when Slade pressed his fingers to Robin’s lips, he didn’t pull away.

               ‘That’s my boy.’  Slade’s chest rumbled against Robin’s back.  ‘That’s my good omega.’

               He slipped a finger into Robin’s mouth, and it tasted as thick and heavy as it smelled.  Robin lapped up with his tongue, tracing over Slade’s skin, and he was a thousand miles away.  He was floating.  He was _drowning_.

               Even when Slade drew his hand away, Robin’s head spun and his bite throbbed.  He couldn’t seem to find his limbs as Slade grabbed the soap and scrubbed it through Robin’s hair, then over his skin.

               He only realised he was hard when Slade set the soap down, drew his hands up Robin’s thighs.  He curled one hand around Robin’s cock, and slipped the other lower, curling two fingers up into Robin’s cunt.

               Robin yelped, jerking an inch out of the water, reality snapping to him in one sharp instant.  But then—

               ‘Shh, shh, shh.’  Slade’s lips brushed over his scent gland, and then lower, fluttering over the burning bite.  ‘Relax, Robin.  Let me take care of you.’

               For a moment, Robin trembled.  The taps at the end of the bath swayed in and out of focus, like he was staring through a spyglass, twisting the lens back and forth, back and forth.  Then the fight melted out of him.

               He sank back into Slade’s chest, and sighed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said this fic would be five chapters? I am a filthy, filthy liar.
> 
> The story is spiralling out of control and it's going to be even longer, and now I have no idea when it's going to end. SEND HELP! (Except don't, I'm having too much fun.)
> 
> Meanwhile, enjoy some smut. :)

Robin clambered out the bath, eyes drooping, muscles soft as putty.  He stood as Slade towelled him off, watching the room sway and ripple around him.

               He’d never felt like this before.

               Drunk.   _Drugged._

               But then, he’d never been bitten like this before.

               He stumbled as Slade drew him across the floor, trying to remember the feel of Starfire nipping gently at his throat, never biting down, never trying to hurt.  But he couldn’t seem to focus on anything beyond the pounding ache in his lower body.  The strain in his cock.  The slick in his cunt.

               And then Slade’s hands, pressing him softly down into the sheets.

               The bed was too soft, the pillows swallowing him up like quicksand.  Slade knelt between Robin’s legs, hands smoothing up and down his thighs.  His hands crept torturously low, fingertips grazing the base of Robin’s cock, before gliding back up.  Robin turned his head, legs trembling, and whined.

               ‘That’s it,’ Slade murmured.  ‘Lie back and let your alpha take care of you.’

               He lowered his head.  Robin’s breath hitched, and then he hissed at the slow, warm trace of Slade’s tongue.  It slid over the slit of his cunt, and then up, along the underside of his cock.  At the tip, Slade closed his lips, kissing and sucking with lewd, wet sounds.  His fingers traced up and down Robin’s cunt, before slipping easily inside.

               Robin moaned.  His hands clenched in the too-soft duvet, back arching as he planted his feet and lifted his hips, bucking up into Slade’s mouth.  Slade grabbed Robin’s hip, and Robin rolled his hips higher, before Slade could pin him down.

               But Slade didn’t pin him down.  He parted his lips and dropped his head, tongue wriggling under Robin’s cock. Robin writhed, hips jerking, and Slade pressed his fingers deeper into Robin’s cunt.  Spread them open.

               Slade bobbed his head, sucking and licking with loud, wet smacking sounds that sent a flush burning over Robin’s skin.  He mewled, toes curling as Slade pumped his fingers faster.

               Robin closed his eyes.  Lights flashed.

               And he was shaking.  Shaking all over and hot and cold, and his throat burned as though Slade’s teeth were once again buried in his skin, and Robin came with a cry.

               He sank back, soft right down into his bones.  Slade slipped his fingers out, and Robin whimpered.

               Slade closed his hands on Robin’s hips, and turned him over as easily as flipping a pillow.

               Robin grunted, face pressed into the sheets.  He whimpered as Slade hoisted his hips up, kicking out to try and find purchase on sheets that shifted under his bare feet.  Slade gripped him  tighter, fingers crushing.  Letting out a yelp, Robin finally planted his feet; braced himself on his forearms.  He held firm, gasping.

               Sliding a hand off Robin’s hip, Slade brushed his fingers over Robin’s cunt.  Then the warm, wet tip of his cock.  Shivers raced up Robin’s spine, and he let out a small, shaky sigh.

               Pressure.  Warm, and blunt.

               And then Slade rolled his hips, and pushed in.

               Robin gritted his teeth, hands tightening in the sheets.  It was more than just pressure.  Not _pain,_ but something else.  Something that made his breath come fast and sharp, and sent pulses up his spine.  His skin _flamed_ at Slade’s touch.  Shifting his arms, he began to push himself up.

               Slade’s hand slammed into the back of his neck.

               Robin’s arms buckled, and he dropped onto his chest.  Slade’s hips pressed up against the backs of his legs.  His cock pressed into some cluster of nerves that fired off like flares, hot and bright, tearing up into Robin’s stomach.

               Slade inched his hand closer to the raw, throbbing ache of the bite—and dug his fingers in.

               Robin’s vision blurred into white mist.

               Soft blankets.  Warm hand on his neck.  Hot burn, searing through the broken skin.  Slade’s breathing: sharp and heavy, the edge of a growl on every exhale.  His hips, thumping into the back of Robin’s legs.

               The wet slide of his cock.

               Whining, Robin dipped his chest and arched his back.   _More.  Deeper.  Faster.  More, Alpha, more._  Blood rushed in his ears and flooded down his body.  Flexing his toes, Robin pushed his weight into his feet and lifted, until his knees hovered an inch off the bed, pressing his hips deeper into Slade’s thrusts.  The tension in his thighs sent heat radiating into his cunt, and Robin moaned, high and breathy.  Slade’s fingers crawled into Robin’s hair.  Tightened.  Shoved down.  Robin whined again, the sound muted in mountains of pillows and blankets.

               Slade snarled, and changed rhythm—gripping Robin close, hips stuttering.  Warmth pulsed deep in Robin’s body, and then he felt the tight, hard clench of Slade’s knot locking into place.

               Robin sagged, and for a moment Slade bowed over him, their bodies pressed together.  Then Slade’s arm slid around Robin’s chest, and he hauled him up.  Robin leaned back, flushed, and as his weight settled onto Slade’s cock he whimpered and shivered.  He was hard again, dick aching with each pulse from Slade’s cock inside him.

               ‘Shh.’  Slade pressed a kiss into Robin’s hair.  ‘I’ve got you.’  Slipping his free hand over Robin’s ribs and down his stomach, Slade curled his fingers around Robin’s cock.  ‘Omega,’ he sighed, his breath warm against Robin’s ear.

               Robin whimpered and trembled, each of Slade’s gentle strokes blazing hot.  So much.  _Too_ much, after coming once already.

               ‘My omega,’ Slade breathed.  ‘My Robin.’

               Coming for a second time felt like being torn apart.  Robin sobbed, weak and finished and so, so _full_.

               After a minute, Slade drew Robin down, his knot tugging at Robin’s cunt as he arranged them on their sides, Slade’s arm thrown over Robin’s shoulder.  

               ‘You should sleep,’ Slade said.  ‘Our flight’s at seven AM.’

               Robin closed his eyes.  No point trying to work the blankets loose from under them, and Robin was too warm anyway.  No point asking Slade about the flight; Slade probably wouldn’t answer, and even if he did, Robin could barely understand two words together.

               His chest felt strangely tight as he sank into the pillows.  Like a rope, coiling around his heart.  He closed his eyes, letting the omega haze carry him away as the heat from Slade’s knot slowly faded, and he slipped into darkness, and sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Something tugged at Robin’s chest.

               The hotel room was dark, blackout curtains drawn over the windows.  Burying his face deeper in the pillows, Robin scrunched his eyes closed.  In the bathroom, the shower hummed, water hissing on tiles.  Aches twinged in his legs and hips, and the bite on his throat burned.  He drew a deep breath.

               _Slade._

               The bed stank of him.  Alpha scent was ground into the sheets and pillows—into the blankets that Robin must’ve pulled over himself sometime in the night.  He shuddered, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth and nose.

               _Slade’s hands on his hips and Slade’s mouth on his throat and Slade’s—_

Robin’s stomach tightened.  It felt unreal.  Hazy, half-remembered.  Like a dream, slipping away as he woke.  Except he was naked in this strange bed and—and he could still _feel_ it.  An ache, deep in his body, where Slade had—had—

               Another tug on his chest.

               The shower shut off.

               Robin choked.  No.  _No, no, no, no._

               Slade’s feet padded over the carpet.  Robin heard the sharp hiss of a zip ripping open, and then shifting, rustling fabric.  He closed his eyes, and covered his ears, and it didn’t make any difference because he _knew_ where Slade was.  He’d know if they were at opposite ends of the Earth.

               The bond tugged, like a string wrapped round his heart.

               Tugged him towards Slade.

               ‘I know you’re awake,’ Slade said, just as Robin lowered his hands.  ‘Get up and shower.  It’s time to go.’

               Robin didn’t move.  He felt hollow.  ‘You mated me.’

               It came out as a soft croak, like dry leaves brushing together in autumn.  And just saying the words sent a bubble rising up in his throat and pressure aching behind his eyes.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.  He wasn’t supposed to be mated like this.  In some anonymous hotel room, half-drunk from the bite burning on his throat, the alpha scent making is head spin …

               With Slade.

               Across the room, Slade flicked on a lamp.  The light slashed through the room like a knife, and Robin hissed, lifting a hand to shield his eyes.

               Slade stood by white desk, one hand still buried in a rucksack.  The zip was open, spilling crumpled black fabric—clean clothes, Robin guessed, from the fact Slade was now dressed in his jeans and a fresh t-shirt.  He stared at Robin.  ‘It was for the best.’

               ‘For the best?’  Robin lunged to his feet.  Then, as cold air hit his skin, he remembered he was naked.  Face flaming, he snatched the blanket off the bed and wound it round his waist.  ‘You mean it’s for the best that you—you _kidnapped_ me?  That you _raped_ me?’

               His voice cracked on that word.

               ‘I did not kidnap you.’  Slade rolled his eye.  ‘My guardianship is entirely legal.  Plenty of other people were bidding on you, and believe me, I was your best option.  I wonder—how would you have liked to belong to Ra’s al Ghul?  Or the Joker?’

               Robin’s throat tightened.  The _Joker_?  ‘He couldn’t—’

               ‘He was banned,’ Slade said.  ‘The Joker would as likely kill you as mate you.  No one is stupid enough to waste an omega on him.  But he tried.’  Turning back to the rucksack, he drew out another t-shirt and a pair of jeans, tossing them on the bed.  ‘And I don’t doubt he’s still trying.  Him and thousands of other alphas.  You’re not just an omega, Robin.  You’re a _prize_.  A chance to strike back at the Bat, or at your team.  How many people would love to make you suffer?’  He dropped the rucksack, folding his arms over his broad chest.  ‘The sooner I mated you, the better.  Now, you are _mine_.  Any alpha who scents you will know it.’

               Spluttering, Robin stepped closer.  ‘So what—this is for my own good?  I should be _grateful_?’

               ‘Yes, you should be grateful.’  Slade turned, closing the remaining distance between them in a single stride.  He grabbed Robin’s arm, tight enough to hurt right to the bone, single eye blazing.  His voice lowered, and Robin had to bite his tongue to keep from whimpering as the string around his heart quivered.  ‘The fact you are here means you are luckier than almost every other omega on the planet.  Slade’s grip eased, just enough for Robin to slip his arm free.  Slade didn’t reach for him again.  ‘You are alive.’

               Robin stared up at him, teeth set, chest heaving with each breath.  Then, slowly, he loosed his jaw.

               There was something about Slade’s face.  About the tightness around his eye.  The small dot of his pupil.  The line between his white brows.

_Fear._

               Mouth dropping open, Robin kept staring even as Slade turned back to the rucksack, digging for whatever else he needed.

               How long had the world been kept in the dark?  How long had they been left wondering which omegas were alive, and which were infected?

               When Slade first learned that Robin had been carted away, was he … _worried_?

               Shock kept Robin frozen, his body numb.  His fingers slackened on the blanket, and it spilled halfway down his legs before he scooped it back up, flushing furiously.  He glanced up at Slade.

               And the shock crystallised—into rage.

               ‘You’re full of shit,’ Robin hissed.  ‘If you were doing all this for me, to _protect_ me, you wouldn’t have raped me.  You would have got me out of here.  You’d have taken me to my friends.  You wouldn’t _keep_ me, like a goddamn _pet_.’

               Slade sighed.  ‘Robin …’

               ‘If I have to spend the rest of my life with you,’ Robin seethed, ‘I’d rather be dead.’

               Turning on his heel, he stalked for the only escape available—the bathroom door—dragging the blanket with him.  It trailed behind him like a wedding train, and he refused to linger on that thought.  To even begin to imagine—

               He ignored Slade.  Refused to look at him.  Refused to pay attention to the tug at his heart as he swept away; to the mating bond urging him back to his alpha.  The self-righteous bastard could jump out the window for all Robin cared.

               Except—

               ‘Dick.’

               The name went down his spine like a javelin.

               Robin’s legs locked.  He couldn’t breathe.  ‘Don’t call me that.’

               ‘It’s your name,’ Slade said, ‘and I am your alpha, whether you like it or not.  I am your _mate_.’

               Robin hissed, but Slade spoke over him—

               ‘This virus has the affected the world.  There is nowhere for you to run.  Your friends can’t help you.’  He stepped closer, placed his hand between Robin’s shoulder blades, and traced it down.  Robin shuddered at the warm, rough touch.  ‘I am the only one who can protect you.’  Slipping his arm around Robin’s waist, he gripped the blanket, and yanked it out of Robin’s grip.  ‘And you don’t need to cover up in front of me.’

               Robin couldn’t move.  He swallowed, throat close and dry.  ‘Let me go.  Please, Slade.  _Please._ ’

               ‘Get in the shower.’  Slade stepped back.  ‘We are not going to miss our flight.’

               He slid away, taking the blanket with him.  And, chest panging with every inch between them, Robin forced his feet to move.  He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank yous to everyone who's read and commented so far, and a particular thank you to Tomato_Carnage, who pointed out a few chapters ago that Slade would be insufferably smug that he knows Robin's real name. I definitely want to make more of that fact in future chapters, too, so thank you for the inspiration! <3
> 
> Hope you're all still enjoying this as it spirals wildly out of my control! :p


	6. Chapter 6

               Robin barely made it through his shower.

               He could _feel_ Slade moving around in the next room; each step a stab in his chest.  The rope round his heart sharpened to barbed wire, slicing through muscle, cutting deep and drawing blood.

               He managed to wash his hair, and scrub soap randomly over most of his skin, before he dropped to the shower floor in a sobbing heap.

               ‘Dick.’  A bang on the door; Slade’s fist.  ‘Get out.’  A moment’s pause—just long enough for Robin to register the edge to Slade’s voice.  To realise that he, too, could feel the pain cutting into Robin’s chest.  ‘Don’t make me break down the door.’

               Flipping off the shower, Robin staggered across the bathroom.  He clicked the lock at the same time as he wrenched a towel off the rail, and didn’t even have time to get round him before the door opened.

               For a single, insane moment, Robin thought Slade was going to drag him into a hug.

               Instead, his eye flicked down Robin’s soaking skin, and back up, and he nodded.  ‘Dry off and get dressed.’

               Robin bit his tongue, and told himself the sting in his chest was absolutely _not_ disappointment.

               The clothes were nondescript: no pictures, no patterns, no logos.  Robin tugged them on, and despite himself, felt a touch of satisfaction at wearing something other than his prison sweatpants.

               ‘Put this on.’  Slade tossed a silver can in Robin’s direction.

               Robin caught it, and turned the tube over, expecting deodorant.  He glanced at the blue label, and frowned.  Sniffing the cap, he winced at the overpowering, synthetic floral smell.   ‘Beta scent?’

               ‘We’re about to get on a plane,’ Slade said.  ‘I can protect you, but I’d rather not fight four hundred desperate alpha passengers in a metal tube.’

               Opening the can, Robin sprayed an X over his chest.  ‘What, no private jet?’

               ‘Too conspicuous,’ Slade said.

               That gave Robin pause.  He was being sarcastic, but were people really crazy enough to attack a private jet in the _hopes_ it was carrying an omega?

               No.  More likely, Slade knew the League and the Titans were still searching for Robin, and a private jet shooting out of California State with just two passengers might draw their attention.

               Before he could point any of this out, Slade said, ‘Let me see your neck.’

               ‘My neck is fine.’

               ‘I’m not going to bite you again.’  Slade’s single eye flicked from Robin’s face down to his collar and back.  ‘You’re bleeding.’

               Robin touched it, and winced at the sharp spike that shot through his skin.  His hand came away flecked with crimson.  It must’ve started in the shower, the pain drowned out by the tightness in his chest.

               Gritting his teeth, he perched on the end of the bed and let Slade attack him with a first aid kit: disinfectant, gauze and then bandage dressing, taped in place on Robin’s skin.

               ‘No one’s going to buy I’m a beta if I’ve got bandages on my neck,’ Robin said.

               Slade grunted.  ‘I’ve got a scarf.’

               Robin rolled his eyes—because wearing a scarf in California in July was definitely not conspicuous.  But the scarf went on, and he followed Slade out of the hotel room with his head down and his fists clenched in his pockets.

               ‘We’ve been granted a safe house,’ Slade said in the taxi, sliding an arm around Robin’s waist; he’d taken the middle seat rather than budging over, forcing them to sit pressed together.  ‘No other alphas nearby.’

 _No other_ people _nearby,_ Robin translated wearily.  But he didn’t wriggle out of Slade’s grip.  His chest still hurt from the shower, and as the car swung round to the taxi rank outside the airport, he knew he needed to save his strength.

               He wasn’t going to a safe house.

               He wasn’t going _anywhere_ with Slade.

               With only Slade’s carry-on rucksack as luggage, they breezed through the airport and into security, where Slade presented the grim-faced man at the counter with two passports.  Robin went rigid, jaw clenching at the realisation Slade had somehow obtained his passport—which _should_ have been locked in a safe in Titan’s Tower.

               A bored nod, and the passport control guard waved them through.

               Slade marched for the metal detectors, ignoring the other passengers standing at tiny desks, tearing through their luggage in search of hand creams, water bottles and laptops to display for security.  Robin followed—pausing only long enough to snatch something off the nearest table.

               A fridge magnet.

               One of those small, cheap souvenirs tourists brought back from their holidays.  Before the tug on his chest could grow too strong, Robin hurried after Slade.  He stuffed the magnet down his trousers, wedging it in the waistband of his boxers.

               Kicking off his shoes, Slade dumped them with his rucksack in a tray on the conveyor belt for the x-ray machine, and stepped through the metal detector. 

               As Slade turned to retrieve his rucksack, Robin slipped off his own shoes, set them on the conveyor, and stepped through the gate.

               The alarm blared.

               Slade swivelled, single eye flashing down Robin’s body and back up.

               Robin fought to keep his expression neutral as a TSA agent swept in, waving a smaller, handheld detector over Robin’s body.  He stretched his arms out, waiting—

               The detector went off at his hip.

               Frowning, the agent dug in Robin’s jeans pocket.  Then he grabbed the waistband of Robin’s jeans, and shook them, as if something would drop out.  Finally, he shook his head.  ‘Come this way …’

               Nodding, Robin followed him—away from the metal detectors, towards a curtained-off area at the back of the room.  With each step, the rope around his heart tightened.  Tugging.  _Go back.  Go back to Slade._

               He closed his fists, and kept walking.

               Another TSA agent waited behind the curtain.  Robin glanced at his rubber gloves, and immediately dug in his boxers.  ‘You don’t need to search me.  This is what set the alarm off.’  He held up the magnet.

               The agent looked down at the magnet, and then back up.  He scowled.  ‘Kid …’

               ‘I need your help,’ Robin said quickly.  ‘But I had to get away—that man I’m with—he’s forcing me to go with him.  You have to help me.’  He swallowed.  His chest ached.  It was the shower all over again, the pressure growing tighter each second, and Robin knew any minute he’d collapse.  He couldn’t run from Slade on his own.  It hurt too much.  He needed someone to take him away—to _drag_ him away.  ‘Please.’

               The agent stepped back, his face softening.  ‘OK, kid.  It’s all right.  I still have to search you, just to be safe.  My colleague will take care of the man you’re with.’

               Robin nodded, trying not to wheeze as the band around his heart grew ever tighter.  Sharper.  Digging in.  ‘He has white hair, and an eye patch.  He’s wearing black.’

               For a moment, the agent was silent.

               Then—

               ‘You mean Mr Wilson.’

               Robin’s eyes widened.  ‘What?’

               The TSA agent stepped forward.  Robin took half a step back, but too slow—the agent reached out, and tugged the scarf from his throat.

               At the sight of the white bandage dressing, the agent rolled his eyes skyward, letting out a sigh.  ‘You’re Dick Grayson.  The omega.’

               Robin’s stomach tightened.  How—how did he—?

               ‘We were warned you might try a stunt like this.’  The agent closed his hand around Robin’s elbow.  ‘Come on.  Back to your alpha.’

               ‘What?  No!’  Robin wrenched his arm free.  ‘You have to help me!’

               ‘Kid, it’s more than my job’s worth to—hey!’

               Robin didn’t wait for him to finish.

               Spinning on his toes, he dived through the curtain—and ran.


	7. Chapter 7

Shouts rang out behind him.  Boots thundered on the tiled floor.

              Skidding round a corner in his socks, Robin raced back to the metal detector gates.  If he could get out the airport—get away—he could contact Batman.  The Titans.  _Anyone_.

              The rope round his heart tightened.  Then _wrenched_ , threatening to tear his heart in two.

              Robin choked, and put his head down, and kept running.

              A blue-uniformed TSA agent blocked the metal detector, so Robin took a flying leap onto the conveyor belt.  Scrambling over the x-ray machine, he dropped down and ran.  Blood pounded in his ears, and his chest was tight—too tight—he couldn’t breathe—

              He shoved past a fat man in a floral shirt, stumbled around a group of squabbling children—

              And his knees buckled.

              Each breath stuck in his throat after only a sip.  Robin clutched his chest.  The mating bond was too strong.  He needed a day— _days_ —to recover.  Days before he could leave Slade’s side, inch by painful inch.

              By then he’d be locked in a safe house, with no escape.

              Gasping, Robin forced his legs to curl under him.  The ground spun, but he pushed himself up.  Staggered a step.  Another.  He could do it.

              He had one chance.

              One escape.

              Hands closed on his arms.  He twisted, but his bones felt like rubber, his skin paper-thin.  Something wound around his throat, and it was a moment before he recognised the soft warmth of the scarf.  A sob bubbled up in his throat, and he stumbled and dragged his feet, but gradually, easily, the security guards drew him back.  Past the other passengers.  Through the metal detector.

              A mobile phone camera flashed, and Robin automatically ducked his head, face burning.

              When Slade grabbed him, all the strength slipped out of Robin’s limbs.  He was distantly, vaguely aware of Slade talking to the security guards, and then Slade looped an around his waist and forced him to walk on numb, shaking legs.  Robin stumbled down a white corridor, until the voices of the other passengers faded into a low, distant rumble.  Slade pushed him through a doorway.

              ‘That was a mistake, Dick,’ he hissed.

              ‘Don’t call me that,’ Robin mumbled.

              Slade shoved him back.  Robin’s heart jolted and his legs buckled again, but he landed in a plastic chair.  The front legs rocked for a moment, then slammed back down.  Pressing a hand to his chest, Robin realised it no longer tightened as he breathed.  He gulped a deep breath.

              ‘What should I call you?’

              Robin looked up.  Slade towered over him, blocking the doorway they’d come through.  They were alone.  Shut in a small room with a couple of plastic chairs and a table.  Probably a TSA questioning room.

              ‘Robin,’ Robin said firmly.  ‘You should call me _Robin_.’

              ‘Robin is gone,’ Slade said.  ‘Robin was a member of the Titans, and omegas no longer have the right to join League-affiliated groups.  Robin is gone.  Robin is _dead._   You are Dick Grayson, and nothing else.’  His eye narrowed.  ‘Say it.’

              Despite the lingering ache in his chest, Robin set his teeth and glared.  ‘No.’

              ‘Say it, _Dick_.’

              Robin replied with a snarl, closing his fists around the flimsy plastic arms of the chair.

              Slade lifted his chin.  ‘All right.’

              His jaw was set, his single eye hard, and alarm bells shrieked in Robin’s head.  He lifted his knees, meaning to tuck his feet and leap backwards over the chair, but Slade swept in too fast.  His knee slammed into Robin’s thigh, pinning him.

              Robin yelped.  Swung a fist.  Slade caught it, then grabbed Robin’s other arm for good measure, crushing them both together in one hand.

              With his other hand, he reached out, drew off Robin’s scarf, and tore the bandage off his throat.

              ‘No—’ Robin gasped.  ‘Slade, no—!’

              Slade’s teeth closed on the still-throbbing bite.

              Robin _screamed_ , bucking his hips, kicking, twisting his shoulders.  Anything, _anything_ to dislodge the teeth ripping into already-torn flesh.

              Somehow, it was worse than the first time.  The pain of the bite sent spikes down into his chest, where the thread round his heart tightened until he was sure it would burst.  And this time, Slade didn’t give him the minute relief of brushing over his scent glands; of overwhelming his omega instincts and letting him go numb.  He let Robin feel every agonising second.

              He didn’t let go until Robin’s screaming died down to sobs.  When Slade drew back, drops of red beaded his lips, staining his white beard.  Robin dropped his head, shoulders shaking.  He’d have felt pathetic, if he could summon any feeling beyond pain.

              Slade curled a finger under Robin’s chin and drew him up.  ‘We can do this as many times as we have to.’  His tongue flashed out, catching the blood dripping over his lower lip.  ‘Say it.’

              Robin sniffed.  Slade shifted, but before he could lean in for another bite, Robin whispered, ‘Robin is dead.’

              ‘Who are you?’  Slade’s voice was the low rumble of the first snow falling before an avalanche.

              Robin swallowed.  Tried to ignore the tears drifting down the sides of his nose.  ‘Dick Grayson.’

              ‘Good.’  Slade stood back, letting Robin— _Dick_ —go.

              Resisting the urge to curl his legs up into his body, Dick pressed his hands into his chest.  It panged as Slade stepped away, but Slade didn’t seem to notice.  He tugged paper towels out of a dispenser on the wall, then came back and pressed them to Dick’s throat.  Dick whimpered, but didn’t pull away.  Didn’t risk another bite.

              Slade glanced down as Dick wound his arms closer around his chest, like a shield over his heart.  ‘That will stop hurting sooner if you stop tugging at it.’

              Dick nodded.  His parents were mated, but they hadn’t been joined at the hip—or, he supposed, at the heart.  The bond would ease off, gradually.  But his mother used to say she always knew where his dad was, even if he was in another city. 

              Slade would always know where he was.  Even if he ran, he couldn’t escape.

              He glanced up at Slade.  ‘Doesn’t it hurt you at all?

              ‘Of course it does.’  Slade peeled back the paper towels, and pressed the bandage back against Dick’s neck.

              The tape stuck, but Dick still lifted a hand and held it in place.  Each heartbeat pulsed through the bite, like another set of teeth shredding through his skin.

              ‘On your feet.  The flight’s in ten minutes.’

              Dick stood on wobbly legs, and when Slade wound an arm around his shoulders, he didn’t shrug him off.

              He was surprised they still let him on the plane, after his stunt.  But, although a few passengers gave him sideways looks, the flight attendants simply glanced over Dick’s ticket and then waved him on with Slade.

              On the plane, Slade wedged Dick in the window seat, blocking him from the two other alphas in their row.  Dick leaned his head against the window, throat throbbing under his scarf.  He watched the ground vanish away beneath them, and felt inexplicably heavy as the plane soared up through the clouds and into a wide blue sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to tomato_carnage for the idea with Dick's name. :)


	8. Chapter 8

Starfire’s communicator buzzed.

               She groaned, blinking awake, wondering why she felt stiff and cramped.  Then, as the grey walls came into focus, she remembered.  Strange bed.  Strange room.

               The League Satellite.

               The communicator buzzed again.

               It was stuffed in her pillowcase, the pillow itself not tucked beneath her head but wedged between her knees.  Sometime in her sleep, Starfire had wriggled round until her head dangled off the side of the mattress—close to the way she slept at home.

               _Home._

               Her heart panged at the thought of Titan’s Tower.  Of Robin’s empty room.

               She pushed herself up and out of bed, ducking so she wouldn’t smack her head on the bunk above.  Her feet didn’t touch the floor—it was too far down—so instead she floated, stretching her arms and rolling her neck until her spine crunched.  It was easy to fly up here in the Satellite, where the gravity was lighter.

               Digging in the pillowcase, she pulled out the communicator.  Probably a report from the others back in Jump.  Or else they thought it was time for them to rotate shifts again; for her to come back to Earth and one of them to work up here.

               Beast Boy had been especially eager at first.  Eager to come into space; to see the famous Satellite; to protect the omegas who’d escaped.  The omegas like Robin.

               But they weren’t Robin.  They were good people, and they needed her, and yet—

               She flipped open the communicator, and scanned over the message.

               And dropped out of the air.

               She caught herself just before she hit the floor.  Snapping the communicator shut, she lowered herself gently.  Still, her bare feet rang out on the metal floor, and three bunks up an omega turned over and grumbled at the noise.  Starfire turned, grabbed her shoes, and ran out the door.

               Three steps down the corridor, she jumped up and took flight again, dragging on her shoes midair.  She was faster flying than running.  The few people she met darted aside as she passed, letting out yelps that echoed through the metal corridors.

               Starfire ignored them.  The three words from the message spun round and round in her head, like drums beating the same rhythm over and over.

               _He’s been sighted._

               She burst into the Crow’s Nest, heart thundering.  Static sparked between her fingers and she closed them into fists, pushing back the flare of her starbolts.  Outside the window, stars whirled in distant galaxies.  Earth glowed, serene and blue.  It was hard to imagine, this high up, the chaos on the planet’s surface.

               A figure hunched in the corner, fingers flicking in the air as he flashed through screen after screen.  His cowl was up, a black blot against the glow of the computer.

               ‘Where?’ Starfire said.

               Batman’s head twitched, like an animal turning towards a sudden noise.  ‘San Francisco International Airport.’  He tapped one of the screens floating in front of him, then lifted it over his head with a flick of his wrist.  ‘He set off the metal detectors and made a scene.  One of the passengers took this picture on their phone.’

               Starfire’s heart stopped.  ‘Robin …’

               It came out barely above a whisper.  He looked small, surrounded by men in blue uniforms, and drab in jeans and a t-shirt with a scarf trailing round his neck.  His face was pale, his eyes wide and hurt—no mask—but it was _him_.

               Taking a deep breath, Starfire set her feet down.  ‘Then we must go.  We must rescue him.’

               ‘Too late.’  Batman said hid the picture with a quick swipe.  ‘The photo was taken hours ago.  The passenger recognised him and sent the picture to the papers … after their own six-hour flight landed.’  He ran a hand down his face.  ‘I don’t know if Robin was on the same flight.  I don’t even know if it was soon after the picture was taken, or hours later.  Over a thousand flights leave San Francisco International per day.’

               Starfire clenched her fists, starbolts crackling across her palms.  ‘Then we must investigate all one thousand flights, until we _find him_.’

               The Titans would have given her sad looks.  Kind words.  Promises that they were doing their best.

               Batman kicked out the chair next to him, and waved her over.  ‘I’m hacking into the passenger database now.  I’ve also got a day’s worth of security footage to review, and only one pair of eyes.’

               Flying forward, Starfire sank into the chair.  ‘Now you have two.’

               She gave Batman a tight-lipped smile, which he didn’t return.  The cowl didn’t hide the bags under his eyes, or the stubble over his cheeks and chin.  Like all the official League members, she knew he had a private bedroom somewhere on the Satellite, but she hadn’t seen him leave the Crow’s Nest in days.

               Maybe the rest of the Satellite was too painful, right now.  All those bunks filled with omegas—everyone the League could save.  Their scent permeated the cramped corridors and shared bedrooms.  Most of the time Starfire could ignore it, but once in a while she took a breath and needed to stop and lean against a wall.  The smell was too sweet.  Too strong.

               Too much like Robin.

               She was two hours of footage down when she realised Batman’s breathing had slowed beside her.  She glanced over.  His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused.  Staring, glazed, at the screen as a progress bar crept, pixel by agonising pixel, towards one hundred per cent.

               ‘Don’t wake him, Miss Starfire.’

               Starfire looked up sharply, then relaxed as a familiar elderly man shuffled in, carrying plastic mugs on a tray.  Alfred passed one to her, then set another on the desk beside Batman, who remained eerily still.

               ‘It’s impossible to get a decent cup of tea up here,’ Alfred murmured, ‘but this will have to do.’

               Giving him a brief, tired smile, Starfire sipped politely.  Raven would’ve appreciated the warm, bland drink better.  But it was something—something in her stomach, which Starfire suddenly realised was empty.  She hadn’t thought of eating.  Not when Robin felt so close.

               Setting the drink down, Starfire glanced sideways at Batman.  ‘He still wears his mask.’

               When Robin’s identity was released, Wayne Manor was ransacked.  Police.  Media.  Starfire had watched on the news as crime scene tape went up around the beautiful white building … and then came down, when they found nothing.  No evidence that Bruce Wayne was anything other than a naïve billionaire, shocked and horrified at the revelation that his good-humoured adoptive son was secretly a teen superhero.

               ‘Force of habit, I believe.’  Alfred sipped his own tea, pulled a face, and glared down into the mug as if it offended him.  ‘And, possibly, hope.  We have to assume …’

               Starfire nodded.  They had to assume everything would be OK.  That the League would find the vaccine they were searching for, or a cure, or both.  That everything could go back to normal.

               That somehow, despite everything, she could have Robin back in Titan’s Tower with her again.  Safe, and smiling.  Curled up in bed with her on a quiet Saturday morning, just enjoying the peace and the glow of the sunrise through the window.

               She turned back to the security footage.  ‘Thank you for the tea, my friend.’

               Alfred gave a little bow.  ‘You are most welcome, my dear.’  He took a step, then hesitated.  ‘And, if you should find whoever is keeping Master Robin captive …’

               Starfire glanced over her shoulder.  ‘Yes?’

               Alfred straightened his back.  ‘Put one of those starbolts of yours right between his eyes.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other characters? In my Sladin fic? It's more likely that you think ...
> 
> (Well done to GreyHound010, who managed to guess this was coming in the last chapter. My readers are too smart for me, I tell ya.)


	9. Chapter 9

They landed in Portland a few hours later.

               Slade rushed them through the airport, dragging Dick along as much by the tug in his heart as the hand closed around his wrist.  He gave the board of outbound flights a passing glance, but marched on, out the airport and into daylight.

               Next thing, Dick was stretched out in the passenger seat of a sleek, black hire car.  The new-leather smell reminded him of Bruce’s limitless collection of Ferraris and Porches, and if he closed his eyes he could almost imagine he was back in Gotham.

               They drove for hours without stopping.  By midday, Dick’s stomach was growling, but he wasn’t about to demand they pull up for lunch.  As if Slade would, after his stunt at the airport.

               The sun was melting into the horizon when they finally pulled in at a roadside motel.  No five stars this time, but the place was clean and quiet, and Dick was too tired and hungry to care where he crashed.  The sight of another double bed made his stomach flip, but a sharp pang in his neck kept him from complaining.  When Slade ordered a pizza, Dick devoured his share without glancing at the toppings.

               He slumped back in bed, closing his eyes.  He’d tried to keep track of where they were going, but without a map he couldn’t really picture their route.  Judging from the sun, they’d been going mostly east.  If they kept going, they’d cross the state border tomorrow.

               Fingers dug into his ribs.

               ‘You need to shower.’

               Dick groaned, but Slade’s hand closed on his wrist and he hauled Dick upright.  Blinking miserably at Slade, Dick stood and staggered into the bathroom.  Only when he turned to close the door did he realise Slade had followed him.

               He swallowed.  ‘No …’

               ‘If I wait in there—’ Slade jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom, ‘—it’ll only hurt.’

               Dick pressed a hand automatically to his chest.  He chewed on the inside of his cheek.  ‘Can you … I don’t know, face the wall?’  He hesitated.  ‘Please.’

               Slade’s mouth twitched in a smirk.  ‘You don’t have to be shy with your alpha, Dick.’  But he turned, folding his arms, and faced the closed bathroom door.

               Letting out a sigh, Dick stripped out of his clothes, letting them pool on the floor, and then painstakingly peeled the bandage off his throat.  The skin throbbed, and he had to grit his teeth and stare up at the ceiling to stop tears spilling from his eyes.

               It took a moment for the shower to heat up, and as Dick trailed his fingers through the water, he glanced over his shoulder again and again, waiting for Slade to turn and grab him.

               But Slade remained resolutely staring at the door, and finally Dick stepped in the hot shower, pulled the curtain, and relaxed.

               The water scalded his skin when it landed on his bite, so he turned three-quarters on to protect it as he emptied free motel soap into his palms and scrubbed his body.  Finally clean, he tilted his face into the hot water, enjoying the shower just a little longer.  He heard Slade shift; impatient.  But after today, Slade could stand to wait a minute while he enjoyed his shower.

               The curtain hissed.

               The gasp hadn’t even filled his lungs before Slade’s hands landed on his hips.  And then hot skin pressed against Dick’s back, and he braced his hands against the wall and choked, ‘Slade—’

               Slade kissed Dick’s throat—the side _without_ the bite—soft as velvet.  His hands slid around Dick’s middle, clutching him close.  A hard lump pressed against Dick’s lower back and he shivered, fingers clenching on the tiles.

               ‘Please,’ he whispered, and hated how small and feeble it sounded.  ‘Please, Slade, I’m tired.  I don’t want—’

               ‘I’ll be gentle,’ Slade murmured, lips fluttering over Dick’s ear.  ‘I’ll take you slow and sweet.  You don’t have to do anything.’  He kissed just behind Dick’s ear, so near the scent gland Dick’s knees went weak.  ‘Just close your eyes and relax.’

               Dick gritted his teeth as Slade’s hands slipped down his body to his limp cock.  He stroked softly, barely more than teasing.  And meanwhile, he peppered kisses up and down the column of Dick’s throat.  Something warmed, deep in Dick’s chest.  Soothed away the ache of his abused mating bond.  Dick’s legs trembled.

               He closed his eyes.

               ‘Scent gland,’ he whispered.

               Slade lifted his head, his wet beard brushing the corner of Dick’s jaw.  ‘Hmm?’

               Dick shivered.  He felt sick just _thinking_ it, let alone saying it aloud.  Felt like his skin was oily and his mouth was full of some sharp taste like orange juice after mint toothpaste.  But the bites layered on his throat screamed at him not to fight, and the warmth in his chest coaxed him not to run.

               ‘Touch—’  Dick swallowed.  Couldn’t force the words out.  Shame coiled in his stomach.  His face burned.  ‘I like it when you—when you touch—’

               As Dick stuttered, Slade lowered his head, and rested his lips over Dick’s scent gland.  ‘Here?’

               Dick cut off with a ragged gasp.  Jolts went down his body, searing in his throat, and then … racing _down_.  Warming his skin.  Buzzing like static where Slade’s hands traced his cock.

               Words weren’t going to happen, so instead Dick gave a small, sharp nod—

               And then _whined_ when Slade drew his tongue over the scent gland, slow and hot and deliberate.  Stars burst over his closed eyelids.  A familiar fog billowed through his head, and for an instant the shower and the hot water and Slade were far away, and all that was left was the tight, warm sensation of blood thumping between his legs.

               ‘Anything you want,’ Slade whispered.  ‘Anything my omega asks for.’

               Another kiss over the scent gland, and Dick shivered.

               _I want you to let me go.  I want to go home.  I want you not to rape me again._

               His eyes burned, but he kept them closed, and he wasn’t sure if he was really crying.  If he was, the shower dashed the tears away.

               He leaned into Slade.  Took a deep, shivery breath.  Focused on the flutter of Slade’s lips.  On the slowly expanding fog in his mind.

               He relaxed.

               Blood pounded low in his body, and Dick wasn’t sure how much time had passed but he was hard and wet and aching.  Slade slipped a hand below Dick’s cock to curl two fingers up into his cunt.  Dick keened, letting his head drop back against Slade’s shoulder.

               ‘Here,’ Slade murmured, ‘or in the bed?’

               Moving to the bed meant cold air on wet skin.  Time to breathe.  Time for the fog to slip away.  Dick licked his lips.  ‘Here.’

               He started to bend at the waist, ready for Slade to grab him and fuck him from behind like before.  But Slade put his hands on Dick’s hips and turned him around—and then picked him up, as easily as lifting a bag of sugar.

               Dick’s back hit the cold tiles and he hissed.  But Slade dipped his head, tongue flickering over his throat—ear—scent gland—and when he drew back Dick was warm and trembling.  He felt pressure against his cunt, and his breath hitched, and then Slade’s cock slipped in, slow and easy.

               Dick moaned.  His hands glided up, looping around Slade’s neck.

               ‘See?’  Slade rocked his hips, and Dick curled his legs around him, although he didn’t need to—Slade held him up apparently without an ounce of effort.  ‘It doesn’t have to be bad, Dick.’  His cock slid deeper into Dick’s cunt, tracing that cluster of nerves again, sending shudders wracking through Dick’s body.  ‘Be good for me, and you can have whatever you want.’

               _I want you to stop._

               The words floated through Dick’s mind, without feeling.  He locked his fingers together behind Slade’s neck.  _No stopping.  Just close your eyes and relax.  Be good for your alpha._   His head spun.

               He didn’t notice the water going cold, but he know when Slade shut it off.  The cold air sent a shock through his body, and his muscles clenched as one.  His cunt tightened around Slade’s cock, and he whined and Slade growled.

               Slade rolled his hips a little faster.  Not _hard_ but rhythmic, each thrust sending another flush burning through Dick’s body.  And burning, and _burning_ , until sparks seemed to crackle in his skin, and he reached down with one hand to grip his own cock and tug, once, twice—

               He came in what felt like a shower of fireworks, the world whirling around him.

               Slade shifted him higher, adjusted his angle, and fucked faster.  Dick whimpered, feeling now like Slade was tearing through him.  Slade didn’t slow, and Dick whined and uncurled his legs.  Too much.  _Too much._   Slade snarled, his grip tightening to the point of hurting.  He crowded in closer, crushing Dick up into the tiles.

               His hips snapped up—and Dick yelped at the tightness of Slade’s knot.

               And Slade still didn’t _stop_ , twitching and grinding up into Dick as if aching to bury that knot as deep as physically possible, until Dick dug his fingers into Slade’s shoulders and breathed,

               ‘Slade … Slade … _Alpha_ … please …’

               Slade groaned at _‘Alpha’_ , and finally fell still, clutching Dick close.

               He didn’t let Dick down, but carried him back to the bedroom.  Slade lowered them both gently to the bed, his knot tugging inside Dick with every movement.

               Dick buried his face in Slade’s chest, and let Slade hold him through minute after dazed minute.  Until their skin dried, and their connection relaxed, and Dick could turn over and dig his way under the damp blankets.  They were dry on the inside, and soft from use and reuse from too many guests over too many years.  Dick closed his eyes as Slade flicked out the light, and tried his best to fall asleep before the haze of sex could slip away, and allow him to think about what he’d done.


	10. Chapter 10

He woke up with Slade’s arms draped around him, holding his back loosely against Slade’s bare chest.

               Slade’s breathing was deep and even, and Dick thought he might actually be asleep.  So he lay quietly, staring at the bathroom door across the room, and tried not shake too much as tears slipped down his nose and soaked into the pillow.

               _‘I like it when you—’_

_‘Here—’_

_‘Alpha … please—’_

               He wanted to dig his fingernails under his skin.  To rip himself into shreds of skin and sinew.  To melt away into dust.

               How could he be so weak?

               His breath hitched.  Behind him, Slade made a low noise in his sleep.  His arm tightened around Dick’s body.  Dick let his breath out, slow and shaky.

               Slade shifted, hand slipping up to Dick’s shoulder.

               ‘Shhh.’  He ran his hand down Dick’s arm, and back up.  Kissed the back of his head.

               ‘I hate you,’ Dick whispered.

               Slade’s hand stilled on his arm, fingers closing tighter around his elbow.  Dick tensed, ready for the strike.  Or the bite.  Ready to have to take those stupid words back; to apologise and let Slade fuck him again.

               But Slade relaxed his grip, and went back to rubbing Dick’s arm.  ‘I know.’  Another kiss, longer this time, his beard tickling the back of Dick’s neck.  ‘That will change.’

               Dick shuddered, but Slade didn’t seem to notice.  He slipped out of bed and headed into the bathroom.  Dick gritted his teeth, but today the distance felt less of a sharp pain and more of a tug.  Perhaps it was the night curled up together, or the fact Slade had now knotted him a second time, but the bond seemed to be healing.

               Still, by the time Slade finished his brief shower and came out, the tug in Dick’s chest had turned to an ache, and he waited a while before taking his turn, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed to be as close to Slade as possible, without reaching out to touch his damp skin.

               They were back in the car ten minutes later, Dick watching dry grass and scattered buildings flick past as Slade drove.  Slade didn’t complain when Dick switched on the radio, and seemed content to let him flick between channels.  He settled on loud club music, partly to drown out his own thoughts, and partly because he hoped it might annoy Slade.  If it did, Slade didn’t show it.  He kept his eyes on the road and drove in silence.  Until—

               ‘Are you hungry?’

               Dick turned from the window.  His stomach growled.

               Slade snorted.  ‘That’s a yes.’

               He turned into a gas station, with a faded diner next door.  Dick waited in the car while he filled up on gas, breathing slow and deep to ease the ache in his chest.  When Slade finally opened his door, Dick leapt out.

               Slade caught his arm.  ‘Behave, or will lock you in the car.’

               Dick swallowed.  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

               Not with that warning ache heating his chest, reminding him how painful it would be if he pulled any harder.  Not with the two bites still throbbing under his fresh bandages.

               Slade eyed him for a moment, then nodded.  But he kept his hand on Dick’s arm—just a light touch—as they walked into the diner and slid into a booth by the window.  A smiling waitress in an over-starched pinafore trotted over; the place was empty.

               ‘What can I get you?’ she said, pouring coffee into Slade’s cup.  Her eyes flicked over Dick, and she faltered, and for a moment Dick’s heart stopped.  But then Slade shifted, and her smile returned, wide and bright as ever.  ‘Do you want coffee, honey?’

               Dick glanced at Slade.  ‘Can I have a hot chocolate?’

               Slade shrugged.

               ‘Sure!’  Setting the coffee down, the waitress pulled a notepad out of her pinafore.  Her smile was fixed.  Perhaps she could smell omega even after Dick’s own quick shower.  Or perhaps Slade’s cold, grey stare was spooking her.  ‘Anything else?’

               Dick grabbed a menu and ordered the first thing his eyes landed on.  Jotting it down, the waitress turned to Slade, who—judging from the way his eye darted to the top of Dick’s menu and back—simply ordered the first thing on the list.  The waitress finished her note with a flourish, then spun away.

               When their food arrived, Dick wolfed his burger down so fast he barely tasted it, and then sat sipping his hot chocolate and picking at fries.

               ‘Slade,’ he finally murmured, stomach tightening as he broke the silence, ‘where are you taking me?’

               ‘To the safe house.’

               Dick rolled his eyes—but kept his head down, so Slade wouldn’t see.  ‘Where is the safe house?’

               ‘If you’re hoping to pass your location on to your friends, or the Bat, you’re being naïve,’ Slade said.  ‘You have no way to contact them, and the safe house is secure.’

               Dick looked up.  ‘If that’s the case, you might as well tell me.’

               He knew he was pushing his luck, and Slade stared him down.  Over his shoulder, the bell on the door dinged as a group of heavyset men in suits tramped in.  The waitress behind the counter greeted them with a strained smile, reaching for the coffee pot.

               ‘It’s in Idaho.’  Slade spoke so softly Dick barely heard him.  ‘Only a few hours away.’  He reached across the table, scooping Dick’s hands into his own.  His touch was surprisingly gentle, his skin rough and warm.  ‘You’ll be safe there.’

               Dick went to pull his arms away, but Slade tightened his grip.  ‘Safe from what?’  He hunched his shoulders, glaring up into Slade’s lined face.  ‘People like you?’

               Slade’s mouth twitched.  ‘No.’  He released Dick’s hands, sliding his own along the table as he sat up.  ‘People like _them_.’

               Frowning, Dick looked up.

               And his stomach dropped into his shoes.

               The suited men stared down at him, their faces heavy as stone.  They’d moved quietly for big men, gathering around his and Slade’s booth with barely the sound of a single footfall.  The man nearest Slade reached into his jacket, and slowly, coolly, drew out a black handgun.

               Dick scanned the rest of the diner in an instant, and found the waitress, hovering by the swinging doors to the kitchen, her face pale.

               ‘I’m sorry, honey,’ she rasped.  ‘I’m sorry, but—my daughter—she’s an omega like you.  They said they’d get her back for me.  I’m sorry.’

               The man with the gun lifted his other hand and waved it over his shoulder, as if swatting a fly.  The waitress whimpered, darted through the kitchen doors, and disappeared.

               ‘Dick Grayson?’  The gunman’s gaze darted from Slade to Dick and back.

               Dick swallowed.  ‘Who are you?’

               Slade tilted his head and sighed, as if he were bored.  ‘You’re making a mistake.’

               ‘The boy’s coming with us,’ the gunman said.  ‘Let us take him quietly, and the boss will compensate you.’

               The bored expression vanished.  Slade bared his teeth.  ‘I don’t think so.’

               Dick slid back on the plastic bench, eyes flicking from one stolid face to another.  ‘Who’s “the boss”?’

               ‘Carmine Falcone,’ Slade said.

               The suited men didn’t respond, but a couple of them shifted, or narrowed their eyes.  Slade was right.

 _Falcone._ Before the virus, Falcone employed dozens of omegas—enough to take his pick.  Even if they’d all died, with his money and influence, surely he’d have been given an omega, if he requested one?  So why … ?

               ‘What does he want with me?’ Dick said.

               Again, the suited men didn’t respond

               ‘To whore you out, of course,’ Slade murmured.  ‘He owns enough brothels, and his customers will pay through the nose for a pretty omega like you.’  He raised his eyebrows at the suited men— _Falcone’s_ men.  ‘Am I wrong?’

               A beat of silence.  Then—

               ‘You’ll be compensated.’

               Dick went cold.  He slipped further back in the booth, heart hammering.  No.  No, he wouldn’t—they _couldn’t_ —

               Slade bared his teeth again, a snarl ripping out of his throat.  ‘He’s mine.  I’ve already mated him.’

               The gunman didn’t flinch.  ‘You’ll be compensated _well_.’

               ‘Get out.’  Slade’s fingers curled on the back of his chair, nails puncturing into the plastic.  ‘Before I make you swallow that gun.’

               The gunman sighed heavily.

               And pulled the trigger.

               The shot went off like an explosion, but Slade had moved first.  His arm snapped up, knocking the gun so the bullet flashed over his head and crashed through the window behind him.  Glass shattered, pouring on Dick’s shoulders like drops of hail.  Slade lunged, twisting the gun out of the man’s grip.  Grabbing the man’s ear, he shoved the barrel between his teeth.

               And fired.

               The other men reached for their jackets.

               Dick took a breath.

               And _moved_.

               He grabbed the cup of hot chocolate first, and launched it at the nearest man.  It smashed across his nose and he fell back with an animal grunt of pain.

               Dick was ready before he hit the floor.  Tucking his feet under him, he leaped up onto the back of the plastic bench, ran for two steps, and flicked a kick under another man’s jaw.  As he crumpled, another man snatched for Dick’s ankles, and Dick darted back onto the table, crouched, and pounced.  He slammed into the man’s chest, bowling them both to the floor, and then slammed a punch across his face.  The man’s head snapped to the side, and Dick drew his hand back to strike again—

               Someone caught his wrist.

               Dick snarled, but man who’d caught him hauled him up.  Blood gushed from the man’s nose, his shirt collar stained brown—the man Dick had caught with the hot chocolate.  His other hand snapped forward, fingers curling in Dick’s hair, and then he yanked Dick backwards.

               Feet tugged out from under him, Dick kicked and hissed.  His scalp burned, and he reached up with his free hand to try and prise the man off, but the man’s fingers were thick as sausages and solid as granite.  He dragged Dick across the floor, and Dick’s shoes trailed through a slowly spreading pool of blood.  Dick retched, digging his nails into the man’s hand as he continued to drag him away from the booth, towards the door—

               Dick tensed, drew his legs in, and kicked backwards.  His heel cracked against bone, and the man dragging him snarled.

               And slammed Dick’s head into the wall.

               Dick crumpled.

               The diner whirled around him, his head thudding like pounding drums, and then he was falling backwards through a door, and sunlight sliced through his head like an axe.  His chest tightened.  He was still falling.  Tumbling backwards, even though the ground was somewhere below him.  He tried to gasp, and couldn’t get any air.  The tightness turned crushing.  Painful.  _Sharp_.

               Thunder crashed, and the grip on Dick’s hair slackened.  Dick slumped, hitting tarmac with a grunt, clutching his chest and wheezing.

               But the tightness suddenly eased, and then arms closed around his body, pulling him up into a figure that was solid and warm.

               ‘Go!  Move!’

               Slade’s voice.

               He looped Dick’s arm up over his shoulders, and half-carried him back to car.  Dick fell into the passenger seat, and watched Slade leap clear over the hood before dropping into the driver’s seat, slamming the door, and stamping on the gas.

               Tyres squealed on tarmac, and Dick clung to his seat as the car tore away.  He turned and watched through the window as the diner, and the dead man, shrank away behind them.


	11. Chapter 11

Slade pulled off the main road a few minutes later, winding down a dozen empty tracks before finally pulling over in the middle of nowhere.

               He turned to Dick, single eye wider than usual.  ‘How’s your head?’

               ‘Great,’ Dick muttered.  ‘Never better.’

               Slade let out a heavy breath, then reached for his rucksack on the back seat.  The now-familiar first aid kit came out, and Slade drew out a tiny flashlight.  He pointed it in each of Dick’s eyes.  ‘Are you dizzy?  Nauseous?’

               ‘I’m fine.’  Dick pushed the flashlight away—but gently.  Slade may have protected him before, but—

               He swallowed.

               Slade _protected_ him.

               Dick drew a slow breath.  ‘Did you know?’  At Slade’s cold, empty stare, he sat a little straighter.  ‘Did you know they’d come in after us?’

               ‘If I’d known, I wouldn’t have endangered you.’

               Dick glared.  ‘But you knew Falcone was after omegas.  You know he had people this far from Gotham.’

               ‘Everyone is after omegas, Dick.’  Slade reached out and buried his fingers in Dick’s hair, tracing over the lump of his bruise.  His face tightened.  ‘I shouldn’t have let them hurt you.’

               He turned back to the wheel, and an instant later they pulled away, and Slade was quiet and stone-faced again.

 

* * *

 

They wove up into mountains, following roads that trailed alongside glittering blue creeks, hedged on each side with sturdy evergreens, like sentinels.  The woods grew thicker and the road grew thinner, tarmac replaced with two dry grooves in the dirt from the wheels of cars.

               Dick watched evening sunlight flicker between the branches.  They had to be miles into the woods.  High in the mountains.  Too far for him to run back to civilisation, if he could ever find an opportunity to run.

               Then he saw the chain link fence.

               It stretched through the woods for miles on either side, topped with coils of barbed wire.  Yellow plastic signs warned that the fence was electrified, and the trees had been cut back either side, just enough to stop anyone climbing up and jumping over.

_Starfire could fly over,_ he thought defiantly.  _And Raven, and Beast Boy._

               Slade slowed the car in front of a wide, sliding gate, and men in black military uniforms marched up to meet them.  Dick winced.  He wouldn’t want any of his friends to face the assault rifles in those men’s arms.

               A man tapped on the driver’s side window.  Slade rolled it down, and handed their passports over; the man flicked them open, nodded, and handed them back.

               The gates slid open, and the car glided through.

               ‘The place is reinforced to protect you specifically,’ Slade said.  ‘Guards patrolling the perimeter; restricted airspace overhead; even certain … _charms_ , to keep people like your friend Raven out..’

               Dick shuddered.  ‘Is every omega locked up like this?’

               ‘Locked up?’  Slade snorted.  ‘We have acres of land to roam in.  But if you’re referring to the security … no.  I was willing to invest more to ensure your safety.’

               Probably one of the reasons Slade _got_ him in the first place.  Dick stared out the window, watching squirrels dart up the rough trunks of conifers, and birds flitter between the branches.  Slade was right—the enclosure was huge.  And _enclosure_ was the right word.  He felt the way a wild animal must feel, when it first encountered the walls of a cage.

               The car swung round a corner, and the trees cleared.

               The house was only one storey, but it was wide and sprawling.  Dark wood beams almost melted into the woods around it, and gold light glowed through the wide windows.  Slade pulled up, and stepped out the car.  As he walked up the steps towards the front door, the bond tugged on Dick’s heart, and he clambered out and followed.

               Stepping over the threshold felt like walking into a prison.  Dick hesitated, toes just touching the doorway.

               Inside, Slade dumped his rucksack on a low, dark sofa by the window.  Turning, he raised an eyebrow.  ‘Do you want me to carry you in?’

               Dick gritted his teeth.

               And forced himself to step inside.

               He left the door open behind him, because closing it would be too much like the slam of iron bars.  But he stepped further in, turning on the spot.  It was no Wayne Manor, but the high ceiling and open space made the house feel more spacious and comfortable.  ‘This place is huge.’

               Slade leaned back on the arm of the sofa.  ‘Room for a family.’

               Dick’s stomach somersaulted.  ‘Don’t say that.’

               ‘You’ll have to come to terms with it eventually.’  Slade rose off the edge of the sofa, and approached like a stalking wolf.  Dick closed his eyes, and reminded himself it would be pointless to run.  Pointless, and painful.  Slade slipped his hands around Dick’s waist, pulling him close.  ‘You can nest here.  You’ll be in heat soon, now you’ve been mated.’

               Dick’s breath caught.  _Heat._   He hadn’t thought of that.

               As if sensing the tension in Dick’s body, Slade trailed his hands up and down Dick’s back, slow and soothing.  ‘Don’t worry.  You’re going to enjoy it.’

               ‘Maybe I don’t want to,’ Dick ground out, almost low enough to be a growl.

               Slade let him go.  ‘You’d rather be Falcone’s whore?’

               Dick flinched.  ‘Of course not.’

               For a moment, Slade was still.  Then he sighed.  Reaching out, Slade traced the backs of his fingers down the side of Dick’s face.  ‘Then stop fighting me, and try a little gratitude.’  His hand slipped behind Dick’s head, and he swept down and pulled Dick into a kiss.

               It was hard, and Slade’s lips were dry, his beard wiry against Dick’s chin.

               And Dick’s chest _burned_ , the mating bond responding by flooding his veins with fire.  He brought his hands up to Slade’s chest, and he was going to push him off.  He was—he was going to—

               He curled his fingers in Slade’s shirt.

               And didn’t notice the soft creak as the front door swung closed behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone order some pure smut? :p

Slade didn't drag him straight to the bedroom, like Dick expected.

               He pressed kisses along Dick’s jaw, hard at first, then growing soft and feathery as Dick arched up into him.  Dick’s heart thrummed like hummingbird wings, his skin tingling where Slade traced his arms; his face; his throat.

               Slade rested a hand on the bites, and a sharp stab shot through Dick’s skin.  He hissed.  But an instant after the pain came a sudden, shivery thrill.  He leaned closer into Slade, knees watery.  His head whirled.  He was going to fall—

               Slade swept him up so fast Dick’s stomach flipped.  Slade carried him a few paces across the room and set him down on the arm of the sofa, where he’d perched himself a moment before.

               Dick parted his knees without thought, allowing Slade to step in between them, and Slade let out a low, smooth sound almost like a purr.  He twisted his hands in Dick’s hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to create pressure.  Enough to say, _‘Keep still,’_ as he bent down and kissed, his teeth clashing against Dick’s.  His tongue swept into Dick’s mouth and Dick whined, sparks crackling down his spine.

               Hands sliding down Dick’s body, Slade bunched the hem of Dick’s t-shirt in his hands and shoved it up, and before Dick could pull it off over his head, Slade ducked and swept his tongue over Dick’s nipple.

               Dick let out a strangled shout of surprise, tingles rippling over his skin.  Then Slade closed his mouth around Dick’s nipple, lapping and sucking, while one hand smoothed down Dick’s chest so he could flick his thumb over Dick’s other nipple.

               Dick curled his toes, fingers squeezing into the sofa cushions.  He realised he was panting, and tried to breathe deeper, and couldn’t.  Pleasant warmth spread low in his body, and then grew into a steady, throbbing ache.  He shifted, his jeans already too tight.

               And then Slade bit down.

               Dick shrieked.  He arched his back—not away but up, _into_ Slade’s bite.  Slade pinched his fingers on Dick’s other nipple, and the pressure grew white-hot.  Gasping, Dick let out a high, desperate mewl on every exhale, as Slade rolled the bud of his nipple between his teeth.

               He loosened his grip slowly, and Dick whined as blood flooded into his abused skin.  Slade licked over Dick’s nipple again, slow and torturous.  ‘Did you like that?’

               The room tilted.  Swayed, like a ship crashing over high waves.  Dick reached for Slade’s shoulder, because if he didn’t, he was going to topple.  ‘Yes,’ he breathed.

               Slade descended again, all lips and teeth and tongue, and Dick focused on clinging to Slade’s shoulder.  Tears fogged his vision and he whimpered and yelped, until Slade reached up and stuffed the hem of his t-shirt up into his mouth.

               It didn’t quiet him; not really.  Only muffled his cries—and Dick realised with a throb in his lower belly that maybe Slade _liked_ that, that maybe it made Slade think of Dick having something _else_ in his mouth—

               Slade dropped his free hand to the waistband of Dick’s jeans.  He flicked the button loose.  Tugged down the zip.

               Dick lifted his hips, allowing Slade to pull his jeans down his legs.  Slade tugged off each of Dick’s shoes and tossed them aside, before sliding the jeans off over his feet and letting them hit the floor with a soft thud.

               ‘Lie back.’  Slade planted a hand in Dick’s chest, and pushed.

               Dick tumbled backwards, arms flailing before his shoulders hit the cushions.  Slade caught his hips before he could slide off the arm of the chair, forcing Dick to lie with his back in an awkward arch, t-shirt still clamped between his teeth.

               Slade curled a hand around Dick’s cock.  He squeezed gently.  Lowered his head.

               And slid his tongue along the slit of Dick’s cunt.

               Dick groaned, drawing his knees up, fingers curling in the sofa cushions.  Slade’s tongue was soft and warm and wet, and his hand worked in slow, loose strokes around Dick’s cock.  Hooking his feet up on the arm of the sofa, Dick pushed his hips higher.  Closer to Slade’s mouth.

               And Slade added pressure, lapping faster.  And— _fuck_ —the wet sound of tongue on skin was lewd in a way that sent shivers racing up Dick’s spine.  Balancing his weight on his elbows, Dick traced his hands over his chest—and flicked experimentally over his still-tingling nipples.

               Shocks sparked through his skin and he gasped, head jerking back.  Biting down hard on his t-shirt, Dick traced his thumbs around his nipples, gasping between clenched teeth.  Slade’s hand tightened on his cock.  Dick pinched his fingers.  Gently first, then harder, until he felt a sweet, sharp sting around his nipples—

               And Slade thrust his tongue up, and into Dick’s cunt.

               Dick _wailed_.  His legs trembled as he arched higher, chasing the slick pressure of Slade’s tongue inside him.  _More._   He wanted—needed—more.

               He opened his mouth, letting his damp t-shirt drop.  ‘Slade—’

               Slade drew his head back.  And though Dick whimpered at the loss of contact, an instant later he heard the hiss of Slade’s zip, and felt the blunt head of his cock.

               He groaned as Slade speared him, rolling his hips to push Slade deeper.  Slade gripped Dick’s hips in both hands and rocked, tugging Dick in as he thrust forwards.  Stars burst behind Dick’s eyes.  Slade thrust again, slow and hard and deep.  Head spinning, Dick got his arms underneath him and pushed up, muscles quivering as he fought to hold the position.

               Tension built in his lower body, and he was close—he was so close—

               ‘Slade—’ he breathed, ‘—faster—please—’

               Slade’s hands tightened on his hips and he _fucked_ , the slam of his hips almost bruising against Dick’s open legs, and Dick shivered and tensed and—

               The pressure burst through his body with the force of an explosion.  Dick shouted out, back arching, hands clenching.  Come hit his chest and neck in hot, white trails.

               Dick shivered.  His legs gave out.

               But Slade caught him, looping an arm under Dick’s hips and hoisting him back up.

               Dick whimpered, twitching as Slade thrust into him again, slower.

               ‘Hush.’  Slade curled his free hand around Dick’s cock once again, eliciting another, louder whine.  But he didn’t let go, fingers working gently over already-throbbing skin.  ‘You’re an omega.  You can come again.’

               He rolled his hips, as if to demonstrate, and sparks shot up Dick’s spine.

               Dick whimpered.  ‘I can’t—’

               ‘You _can_.’  Slade’s hold on his cock tightened, then relaxed again, and Dick let out a long, high noise, somewhere between pain and ecstasy.  ‘As many times as I want you to.’

               ‘I’m not—’ Dick gasped as Slade thrust again, sharper.  ‘I’m not in—not in heat—’

               ‘You don’t have to be.’  Slade moved his hips faster, his cock gliding deep into Dick’s body, brushing that cluster of nerves that sent fireworks crackling up his spine.  ‘Relax, Dick.  Relax and come for me.’

               Each trace of his fingers on Dick’s cock sent Dick’s frayed nerves into overdrive, and Dick jerked and twitched and whimpered.  Each lurch only jolted Slade’s cock deeper into him, sending shocks into Dick’s body and making him writhe—

               And his cock ache.

               ‘That’s it.’  Slade let go of Dick’s cock in favour of gripping his hips, and fucking him harder.  ‘That’s my boy.’

               The heat was unbearable.  Dick was drowning.  Tumbling endlessly down a black hole and longing to hit the bottom.  He reached up and grabbed his cock, pumping frantically.  Trying to time it with Slade’s thrusts.  His lungs burned and he wasn’t sure if he was breathing too fast or holding his breath—

               And when he came the second time it was _blinding_.

               He felt the familiar swell of Slade’s knot.  Then the satisfying tightness of it locking into place.

               He fell back, arms sprawled over his head, eyes closed.  Slade lowered him gently to the sofa, and he let out a soft groan as their connection jostled.  But then Slade climbed over him, surrounding Dick with warmth, and everything was soft and aching and sweet …

               He came round a few minutes later, when Slade’s knot relaxed and he stepped away.  Dick hissed at the touch of cold air on his bare skin, but before he could sit up, Slade tossed a blanket over him.

               ‘Rest,’ he said.  ‘I’ll make dinner.’

               The concept of Slade doing anything as mundanely domestic as _cooking_ made Dick snort with laughter.  But he was too heavy to get up, and too spaced out to talk, so he scooped a cushion under his head and let himself drift.

               Drift between comfort, and guilt.

               No, not _guilt_.  Guilt wasn’t strong enough.

_Horror._

_I can’t help it,_ he thought savagely, curling his fists and thumping one against the cushion, as thought he was trying to fluff it up.  _I can’t help what the mating bond does to my stupid body._

               But at the same time, another voice whispered, _No, but you could at least_ try _to resist._

               He touched the bites on his neck.  _This is what resistance got me._

               The room gradually filled with the smell of cooking chili, and Dick closed his eyes and breathed deep.

               He was going to escape.  Somehow.  He’d get a message to the Justice League—to the Titans—and they’d help him.  He wouldn’t spend the rest of his life in this cabin, a slave to his own cursed omega instincts.  He just needed a plan.

               Until then … he had to survive.

               That was all.  Just _survive._

               He slipped his hand off his neck.

               He could do that.


	13. Chapter 13

Starfire had already watched the security footage a dozen times.

               On the screen in front of her, the other Titans crowded together on the sofa, staring up at her.  Or rather, at the video Batman was playing for them over the live comms link.  The black-and-white figure in the grainy footage hunched over his food, eating fast, scowling.

               And so, so clearly Robin.

               A smile flickered on Beast Boy’s face.  ‘He’s OK.’

               On the comms screen, Raven leaned forward, her eyes narrowed, and Starfire knew she wasn’t looking at Robin, but at the white-haired man opposite him.  The man Robin had been _given_ to.  White hair was all they could see—the man had his back to the camera.

               Starfire’s stomach tightened as men in black suits filtered in.

               Here it came.

               The worst part.

               Next to her, in his permanent seat in the Crow’s Nest, Batman straightened.  He was ignoring the comms screen that showed the Titan’s faces.  His eyes were fixed on the footage, as though this time, he’d see something he hadn’t every time before.  He’d watched it more than Starfire.

               Alfred hovered over his shoulder, one hand on the back of Batman’s chair.

               Raven hissed when the first black-suited man drew a gun.  And then she gasped when the white-haired man _took_ that gun, and shot the suited man in the mouth.  Beast Boy leaped up a squawk.

               The fight started, and Starfire drew her hands up to her lips and gnawed on her nails, gaze flicking between the fuzzy image of Robin, and clearer image of the Titans, all watching with wide eyes.

               When Robin hit a man in the face with his mug, Beast Boy crowed in delight, and when he snapped a kick into another man’s face, Cyborg cried,

               ‘Yes!  That’s our Robin!’

               Starfire bit down harder on her nails, stomach squirming, as Robin went down.  As the man dragged him to the door by his hair, Robin kicking and flailing.  Beast Boy sank back onto the sofa, colour draining from his face.

               ‘C’mon, Robin,’ Cyborg murmured.  ‘C’mon, you can take him.’

               The man slammed Robin’s head into the wall.

               Robin went limp, and all three Titans on the sofa cried out in unison.

               Then Robin was gone, and it was only the white-haired man left.  He fought like a bear, all heavy punches and merciless strikes.  He was fast, too.  Deceptively fast, for his broad shoulders and towering height.  His head snapped from side-to-side, never still long enough for the camera to catch more than a blur.

               When the last suited went down, the white-haired man turned and shot out the door.

               ‘We have more footage from an outside security camera.’  A few taps of Batman’s fingers on the screen, and the next video flashed up.

               Starfire curled her knees up into her chest.  It was coming.

               It started with the black-suited man dragging the limp Robin outside.

               Cyborg hissed a curse under his breath.  ‘Get up, man.  C’mon, get up.’

               Robin didn’t move.

               But the door to the diner burst open, and the white-haired man stepped out.  He raised his stolen gun and fired a shot that flashed silently on the film.  The black-suited man fell back, and Robin dropped and—

               Starfire covered her mouth with both hands.

               This was it.

               The worst part.

               Robin didn’t lunge to his feet.  Didn’t try to run.  He curled over, clutching his chest, as though struggling to breathe.  The white-haired man—Robin’s _captor_ —grabbed him, and Robin clung to his shirt.  Just for an instant, as the man stood up, his face was clear.  The broad nose, the deep-set eyes, the beard.

               The eyepatch.

               Robin let the man draw him away.  He dropped his face into the man’s shoulder.  Leaned on him.  His face relaxed, as though the pain in his chest was suddenly gone.

               Batman shut off the video.  ‘This was filmed at a roadside diner near the border between Oregon and Idaho.’  Batman’s voice was flat and quiet, the usual low timbre gone.  He sounded drained.  ‘We’re trying the track the alpha’s car, but it seems he left the highway shortly after and we have minimal footage.’  He drew a breath, as if steeling himself.  ‘From the apparent pain in Robin’s chest, we—’

               His voice cracked.

               Starfire squeezed her eyes closed.

               ‘We believe,’ Batman continued, ‘that Robin has already been mated.’

               The Titans exploded.  Shouts of, ‘No!’ and, ‘He can’t be!’ were drowned out as Beast Boy transformed into a green-striped tiger, and let out a roar so loud it crackled through the microphone.

               Behind Batman, Alfred let out a shaky breath, and transferred his hand to Batman’s shoulder.

               A few taps on the screen, and Batman brought up a screenshot of the alpha’s face.  As the Titans finally quieted down, he said, ‘Do you any of you recognise this man?  Is he someone you’ve faced before?’

               The silence _hurt_.  The Titans stared at the alpha’s face—the white hair, the one eye.  Starfire’s stomach coiled, and she wasn’t going to say it.  She _wasn’t_ , because it couldn’t be true.  She was crazy for even _thinking_ it, and if the others didn’t say it—

               ‘We know a man with one eye.’  Raven’s face was milk-white, her hands clasped in her lap.

               The boys on the sofa turned to look at her, and in an instant, Beast Boy was human again, his eyes wide.

               ‘Raven …’ he croaked.

               Starfire’s skin prickled.  No.  She wasn’t going to say it.  She wasn’t.  It wasn’t _true._

               Raven glanced at him, brows knitted, then turned back to the screen.  ‘His name is Slade.’

               ‘No!’  Starfire shot to her feet.  Starbolts crackled between her fingers, and she let them burn, green flames licking up to her elbows.  ‘It cannot be him!  I do not believe it.  I _will_ not.’

               ‘He’s the right height.’  Cyborg slumped.  ‘The right build.  He even fights like Slade.’

               Blood thundered in Starfire’s ears.  ‘Slade is not Robin’s mate!  Robin would not allow it!’

               Batman shot her a sharp look.  ‘It isn’t a question of what Robin will allow.’  He reached up, touching Alfred’s hand on his shoulder.  ‘He doesn’t have a choice.’

               ‘It isn’t Robin’s fault, Star,’ Raven said softly.

               ‘Of course it isn’t!’  But the starbolts only burned brighter, and Starfire’s heart only thumped harder.  With a scream, she turned and threw the starbolts across the room.  They crashed into the door, one after the other, blasting it off its hinges.  The door slammed back into the hallway, shaking the floor.  Starfire hunched her shoulders, snarling.  And then, without warning, the snarls trembled … and cracked …

               And dissolved into sobs.

               The starbolts flickered out.  She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, gasping for air as tears streamed down her face.  ‘Robin …’

               It wasn’t _fair_.  It could’ve been anyone else.  _Anyone._   Robin must be so hurt, and so scared, and she wasn’t _there_.  She wasn’t there to pull him up in her arms and make him laugh and show him— _prove_ to him—that everything would be OK.

               A gentle hand, dry as paper, touched her arm.  Starfire looked up, and Alfred drew her into a hug.

               ‘We’ll find him, Miss,’ he whispered.  ‘Never fear.’

               Starfire nodded.  But she saw the way he glanced over her head at Batman, and the way Batman stared back, eyes dark and hollow and exhausted.

               They’d find Robin.  They _would_.

               Because if they didn’t, she’d never forgive herself.


	14. Chapter 14

Dick fell asleep curled on the sofa, and woke up in bed with Slade’s arm over him.

               _His_ bed, from now own.

               Or … his _and Slade’s_ bed.

               He traced the edge of the mattress, trying to wrap his head around that.  His and Slade’s.  Slade’s and his.

               He turned his head, looking from the sloping ceiling—they must be in the attic—to the buttery sunlight filtering through the curtains, to the two wardrobes, side-by-side against the far wall.  Books were stuffed in the shelf under his nightstand, and he reached down to trace his fingertip over their spines.  He couldn’t see the titles, so he tugged one out at random.

               _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ , by Arthur Conan Doyle.

               A lump swelled in his throat.  The book was sparkling new, with a rich burgundy hardback cover and shimmering gold title.  Nothing like his own precious copy in Titan’s Tower, with its dog-eared pages, broken spine and battered cover.  The copy that Raven bought for him.

               But still, he brought it to his chest and hugged it close.

               He was several pages in when Slade lifted his arm away, and sat up.  He adjusted his eyepatch as Dick turned over, and then glanced at the book in Dick’s hands.  His white hair was ruffled from sleep, sticking up over his forehead.  His lips twitched.  ‘If you want any more, you only have to ask.’

               _I have all the books I want._   Dick curled his fingers in the blankets.  _At home, in Titan’s Tower._

               He forced his hands to open.  ‘Thank you.’

               Slade swept out of bed and headed through a door across the room.  Dick heard taps hissing—an en suite bathroom.  Sliding out of bed, he padded to the wardrobes and pulled one open.

               Clothes spilled from drawers and hung in regimented lines on hangers, all neatly pressed and folded.  The first t-shirt he picked up could have wrapped round him twice.  Slade’s wardrobe, apparently.  Closing it, he reached for the other one.

               This, too, was full.  Everything inside was plain and neutral: white t-shirts, jeans and grey cargo shorts.  The few colours were muted, as if everything had been chosen to be as inoffensive as possible.  Dick pulled the first things his hands touched.

               As Slade stepped out the bathroom, Dick pulled out a pair of black swimming shorts, holding them up with a frown.  ‘Is there a … pool?’  He hadn’t seen one out the windows.  Just grass, sprays of colourful wildflowers, and the shadows of the woods.

               ‘There’s a lake,’ Slade said.  ‘Just through the woods.’

               Dick closed the wardrobe doors.  Perhaps, across the country, dozens of other omegas were opening their own wardrobes to find the same clothes, folded neatly, hanging on the same wooden hangers.

               No wire hangers.  Dick’s stomach turned as he tried not to think of the implications of that.

               Breakfast felt like swallowing lead.  After forcing down the last bite, Dick got up to explore every inch of his prison.  Slade followed with an approving smirk, apparently believing Dick was admiring his new home, rather than seeking escape routes.

               Five more bedrooms lined a corridor on the ground floor, each with twin single beds.  Dick glanced at Slade, who stared silently back at him.  Ten beds.  _Ten._

               _Some of them must be spares._   His throat tightened.  _Maybe—maybe they’re for guests._

               A note of hysterical laughter bubbled up his throat, and he disguised it as a coughing fit.  Slade lurched closer, but Dick held up a hand.

               ‘I’m fine.  Just—uh—choked on my own spit.’

               _Guests._   There wouldn’t be any guests here.

               That was what the barbed wire was for.

               He padded down the hallway, and found another door leading down into the basement.  When he looked at Slade again, Slade only smirked and shrugged, as if to say, _‘Go ahead.’_

               Dick narrowed his eyes.  Probably nothing down there but laundry machines and junk.  Or—he shuddered—more bedrooms.  But he flicked on the light and headed down anyway, Slade a few steps behind him.

               Halfway down the stairs, he stopped dead.  ‘No way.’

               Behind him, Slade laughed softly.  His hands settled on Dick’s shoulders, warm and heavy.  ‘It’s all yours.’

               It was a gym.

               A fully equipped gym, with weights and machines and mats—

               ‘You got all this ready in a _week_?’ Dick breathed.

               ‘Less than a week, actually,’ Slade said.  ‘The Department of Health agreed it was in their best interests to maintain your current level of fitness.’

               Dick drifted down the stairs, dazed, and floated from one machine to another.  He trailed his hands over the weights, lifting some of them experimentally before dropping them back on the rack.  He’d have killed for this room when he was locked in that omega prison, with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

               ‘You don’t have to use it all at once.’  Slade sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

               Dick nodded.  If not for the mating bond, he’d have shoved Slade out the door and locked himself down here permanently.

               In the afternoon, Slade led Dick through the woods to the lake.  It was tiny—technically a pond—but the water was clear and deep, and refreshingly cool in the sweltering summer heat.  Dick swam laps until he was too tired to hold his head above water, and then flopped on the grassy shore.

               He closed his eyes, imagining the sound of splashing water.  Imagining Starfire shrieking with laughter as she chased a piranha-shaped Beast Boy through the water.  Cyborg boasting about his new waterproof plating, right up until it inevitably leaked and he had to clamber out with one arm frozen over his head, grumbling and reaching for a screwdriver.  Dick would tread water at the edge of the lake, trying to convince Raven to stop meditating and get in with them.

               Out over the lake, the water rippled as Slade swam past.

               Dick pressed a hand to his chest.  The ache in his heart was homesickness.  Nothing more.

               Nothing more.


	15. Chapter 15

‘Falling asleep, Dick?’

               Dick opened his eyes.  The sun had crept to the edge of the treeline, throwing rippling shadows across the clearing and the lake.  Across the lake, Slade trod water without any apparent effort.

               Dick pushed himself up.  ‘Of course not.’

               Slade stared, unblinking, so Dick slipped back into the lake, and swam across the water.

               His toes brushed something solid as he grew close, and he realised Slade wasn’t treading water after all, but standing on a shelf of rock.  Slade reached out as Dick approached, and the water swirled and hushed as he pulled Dick in.

               Dick put his hands on Slade’s chest, and it occurred to him for the first time how _solid_ Slade was.  And how his own bones felt suddenly like dry twigs, ready to snap at the lightest pressure.  He shuddered.

               Slade slid his hands down Dick’s back.  He brushed past the waistband of Dick’s trunks, and Dick stiffened.  Slade squeezed his ass.

               Dick drew a sharp, shaky breath.  ‘Not here.’

               ‘Why?’  Slade chuckled, then ducked his head to layer kisses over Dick’s jawline.  ‘Do you think someone will see us?’

               There was a perfectly good response to that.  And it was … it was …

               Everything faded to a soft, grey fog as Slade’s fingers kneaded the muscles in his ass, and Slade’s tongue traced his throat.

               Blinking sleepily, Dick tried to remember why he’d been arguing.  But somehow, the more he reached, the more he felt heat build in his lower body, and his chest warm.  And, like the whisper of dry paper, he only found—

_Just survive._

               Dick rocked closer to Slade’s body.  Alpha scent filled his nose, and the warmth already flushing his skin _flamed_.  He slipped his hands into the water.  Fumbled over the lines of Slade’s ribs.  The dips and ridges of Slade’s abdominals.

               The waistband of his trunks.

               ‘Go on,’ Slade murmured.  ‘Don’t be shy.’

               It was like a strobe of sunlight, cutting through the mist in Dick’s mind.

               _What the hell am I doing?_

               He snatched his hands away.  Took a step back, shaking his head.  He couldn’t keep doing this.  Couldn’t keep getting drunk on alpha scent and—

               Slade groaned, and pulled Dick back in.  A definite hard ridge pressed into Dick’s naval.  ‘You’re a tease, Dick Grayson.’  He nipped at Dick’s throat—the side without the bites—and Dick flinched.  ‘You shouldn’t do that.’

               He stooped, winding his arms around Dick’s thighs, and then lifted him up out of the water.  Dick yelped, grabbing Slade’s shoulders for balance.  Water sloshed around them as Slade carried him to the higher bank on this side of the lake.

               He pushed Dick up onto the dry earth.  Dick tumbled back, caught himself with one arm, and then almost slipped back into the water as Slade tugged his trunks down his legs.

               ‘Slade—’ he gasped.  ‘Don’t—stop—’

               The trunks went up on the ground beside Dick with a faint, wet splat.

               Slade closed his hands over Dick’s knees—level with his own head as Dick’s feet dangled in the water—then pushed them apart.  Dick scrambled back, but Slade only tightened his grip, holding him on the edge of the bank.  Slade dropped his head, and Dick hissed as Slade’s tongue traced his slit.

               Dick lifted one foot to—he didn’t know—crawl backwards, or kick Slade in the head.  And Slade drew back, turned, and buried his teeth in Dick’s thigh.

               The scream was more surprise than pain.  Slade bit down hard, but only for a second, and then loosed his grip.  Dick dropped his leg, shivering.

               ‘Sorry,’ he whispered.  ‘I’m sorry.’

               Slade didn’t respond, but fluttered open-mouthed kisses over the still-tingling skin.  Trembling, Dick curled his toes and whimpered as Slade licked and kissed.  His lips moved up the underside of Dick’s already-hard cock, tongue flickering over the sensitive skin at the tip before he descended again.  Dick panted as sparks fired up his spine.

               And slowly, slowly, he stopped trembling.  Leaned back.  Closed his eyes.

               Let the fog descend.

               Slade slipped a hand off Dick’s knee and speared a finger up into him.  Dick sighed, rocking his hips to feel that pressure deeper.

               But Slade moved achingly slow.  His mouth traced up and down, tongue lapping in long, lavishing strokes, finger tracing Dick’s cunt.  Dick’s hands twitched.

               And Slade didn’t speed up.

               ‘How does it feel?’ Slade murmured between kisses.  ‘Do you like being teased, Dick?’

               Dick whined.  Still, Slade kept his torturous pace.  An image flashed in Dick’s head, of burying his fingers in Slade’s hair, and thrusting up into his throat.  His cock twitched.  Slade ignored it.

               ‘Slade …’

               Slade lifted his head, single finger still thrusting slowly into Dick.  ‘Do you want more?’

               Dick drew a shaky breath.  ‘Yes.’

               ‘Too bad.’  Slade dropped his head.  Brushed an open-mouthed kiss over the head of Dick’s cock, tongue swirling.  ‘You’re not getting it.’

               Groaning, Dick flopped back, until his shoulders hit the ground behind him.  He slipped a hand down his body, reaching for his cock—

               Slade caught his wrist, and pinned it down.  ‘Don’t you dare.’

               Curling his fingers in the dirt, Dick gritted his teeth.  He didn’t reach down with his other hand.  Didn’t risk that Slade might draw that one finger out of his slit to pin another wrist down.

               He moaned and twitched as Slade continued, to slow and too soft to ever satisfy.  Eternities wheeled past as Dick lay there, sparks tingling in his spine, slick dripping from his slit.

               And then—his breath hitched—sudden pressure build in his cock.  He arched his back, hands scrabbling in the dirt.  He was close—the edge in sight—and despite Slade’s torture, he was hurtling towards it—

               Slade drew back.

               Dick _screamed_ , curling his free hand into a fist and slamming it on the ground.  ‘You—’

               ‘Beg,’ Slade said.  ‘Beg, and maybe I’ll let you come.’

               The words poured out before Slade finished speaking.

               ‘Please, _please_ Slade.  Please—I’m so close—please just let me— _just let me—_ ’

               Slade closed his mouth around Dick’s cock.

               Dick yelped and jerked, thrusting up without thought, and then cried out again when Slade speared three fingers into him, pumping hard.  He came with a shriek, trembling all over with aftershocks.

               Letting Dick’s cock fall from his mouth with a lewd, wet pop, Slade set a hand on the ground and jumped out of the water in a single, smooth leap.

               Swinging his legs out the water, Dick shuffled back.  As Slade tossed his own trunks down beside Dick’s, he froze.

               And took a breath.

               And lay back.

               Slade knelt, smoothing his hands over Dick’s stomach, then up to his chest, pinching briefly at his nipples.  Dick whimpered, and parted his legs wider.

               ‘Good boy,’ Slade murmured.

               Dick’s thoughts tunnelled around the sweet, stretching heat of Slade cock pushing inside him.  And all that mattered was lifting his hips and chasing that friction, racing to a second orgasm—

               He came with a shriek.  And then came again a few minutes later, Slade’s fist pumping around his cock.  His head spun and his body ached and throbbed, and it was still better than not coming at all.  Limbs trembling, he arched up and rocked his hips in time with Slade’s thrusts, the ground whirling beneath him.

               Coming for the last time felt like tearing his body in two.  And it happened an instant before Slade’s knot locked, and Dick could finally crash backwards and lie there, eyes half-closed, one hand trailing out towards the lake.

               He traced his fingers along the surface of the water, watching sunlight glitter on the ripples.  And when Slade’s knot gradually eased, and he slipped out, Dick didn’t move.

               The contentment should have worried him, but it didn’t.

               _Just survive._

               He was only doing what he needed to do.


	16. Chapter 16

The days slid into each other, stacking up like a deck of cards until Dick wasn’t sure how long he’d been there.

               ‘Can I have a calendar?’

               Up ahead of him, Slade hesitated.  Dick kept walking a few paces.  Every day, he got a little further before he felt that pull on his heart.  He stopped when he felt it, wincing, although it didn’t exactly hurt.  It just reminded him that he was tethered to Slade.

               The walks were a daily routine, long and brisk-paced.

               ‘I don’t see why not.’  Slade started walking again, light rippling over his shoulders and face as the sunshine filtered through the trees.  And then, because apparently he needed to ruin everything, he added, ‘It will help to keep track of your heat cycles.’

               Dick groaned.

               But the calendar arrived with their next grocery delivery, and went up on the bedroom wall.  He watched July crawl into August, ticking off each day he spent walking and jogging in the woods; swimming in the lake; working in the gym; gradually ploughing through the books in his nightstand.

               Spread out under Slade, naked and gasping.

               The first Sunday in August, Dick curled up on the sofa after dinner, watching the news with Slade beside him.  His legs ached from a long afternoon run through the woods, and the rest of him ached from Slade lying him down in the pine needles and knotting him right there under the trees.

               ‘Local found twelve omegas hiding in a barn in North Carolina,’ said a solemn news anchor, as clips played of the police raid.  They dragged out a line of scruffy, pale-faced people in handcuffs.  The camera zoomed in on their faces  Two of them bore visible scarlet rashes, creeping up their necks and blooming over their faces.

               Dick shivered, hugging his knees to his chest.  They must all be in some omega prison by now, staring at the walls and waiting.  Waiting for an alpha.  Or waiting to die.

               Slade reached out, and settled his hand on Dick’s far shoulder.  He tugged, and Dick resisted, clenching his teeth.  But Slade let out a low huff of breath, just on the edge of a growl, and Dick went limp.  He let Slade drag him down.  Tucking his feet up under the cushions, he settled his head on Slade’s lap.

               Slade’s hand remained on his shoulder.  Holding him close—or pinning him down.

               On-screen, the camera panned through each of the omega’s faces.  Dick was half-surprised Slade let him watch this.  But then—no—of course he did.  It only confirmed everything Slade had told him.  There was no escape.  No safety.

               The news anchor’s voice floated over the footage.  ‘The virus had spread to all but one of the omegas.  Three died in overnight.’

               Dick couldn’t restrain the sharp intake of breath.  Slade’s hand moved from his shoulder to the back of Dick’s head, petting softly.

               ‘You’re safe here,’ Slade murmured.

               Dick didn’t know how to say that wasn’t what mattered.

               A grim-faced sergeant flashed up on the screen, shaking his head.  ‘Quarantine is the only effective way to stop the virus.  If they’d turned themselves in, we could’ve protected them.’

               Slade curled his fingers in Dick’s hair, letting out an absentminded, comforting murmur.  Dick resisted the urge to close his eyes.  To relax into that touch.  He wanted to watch.  He wanted to know what was happening out there.  What he was missing—

               A sharp buzz rang through the house.

               Dick shot to his feet.  What _was_ that?  A fire alarm?  He glanced around the house.  No sign of smoke.  Maybe—his heart skipped—maybe it was a perimeter breach?

               ‘Relax.’  Slade rose smoothly off the sofa.  ‘It’s the doorbell.’

               Dick spluttered.  ‘We have a _doorbell_?’

               He followed Slade to the front door, where Slade reached for a wooden panel set into the wall, and slid it open.  Dick had assumed it was just someplace to hang the house keys, but inside, a little metal speaker buzzed.

               Slade hit a button, and voice crackled through the speaker, ‘Doctor’s arrived, sir.’

               ‘Let them in.’  Slade lifted his finger off the button.

               Dick stared at the panel.  Of course.  In an emergency, Slade needed to contact the outside world somehow.  To call an ambulance, or firefighters, or whatever else he needed.  But Dick couldn’t believe he’d missed it.  Where was the other line?  The front gate?

               Did that mean the front gate … had a phone?

               A phone he could use to contact the Titans.  The League.

_Bruce._

               Another thing prodded his mind, with polite insistence.

               He finally looked up from the panel, narrowing his eyes.  ‘Doctor?’

               ‘Your monthly check-up.’  Slade opened the door, as outside a dark blue car swept up the drive, headlights flooding the ground golden yellow.

               The doctor was a woman in a sundress and sandals, with sleek dark hair plaited down her back.  She shook hands with Slade, glanced briefly at Dick, and took a seat on the sofa.  There, she proceeded to pull one horrifying implement after another out of her leather bag.

               ‘Well?’  She arched an eyebrow at Dick.  ‘Come and sit down.’

               Dick glanced at Slade, who nodded, before walking back to the sofa and sitting down, back straight and rigid.

               She checked his blood pressure; his height and weight; the colour of his tongue.  She flashed a torch in his eyes, and drew a tiny sample of blood from the crook of his elbow.  Nodding at the results of each, she made notes on a clipboard in quick, chicken-scratch handwriting.  Finally, she looked over the bites on Dick’s throat—he’d taken the bandage off long ago—and looked up at Slade, who hovered by the kitchen counter.

               Dick held his breath.  Even weeks old, the bites looked raw and painful.  Bruises crept up his throat, yellow and green as they aged, split through with white, puckered scars.  Surely— _surely—_ she’d complain?  Tell Slade to back off.  Remind him that omegas were in short supply.  That they shouldn’t be hurt—

               ‘He’s perfectly healthy,’ the doctor said.

               Dick sagged.

               ‘Probably the healthiest omega I’ve seen so far.’  Picking up her various implements, the doctor stuffed them back in her bag.  ‘You should be proud.’

               ‘Thanks,’ Dick said acidly.

               She ignored him, rising to her feet and shutting her bag with a snap.  ‘I’ll be back in a month.’

               With that, she swept off the sofa and out the house.  Dick waited until the hum of her car engine faded away, and then flopped back on the sofa with a grunt.

               And then grunted again, when Slade stalked across the room, leaned over the back of the sofa, and pressed his palm between Dick’s legs.  Dick tensed, rocking his hips up ... and then closed his eyes, and lay back, and relaxed.

 

* * *

 

Dick shut off the shower, threw a towel over his shoulders, and padded back into the bedroom.

               The sun was burning hot outside, and even the whirring air con couldn’t seem to combat it.  He dropped on the bed, closing his eyes and dozing.  Enjoying having the whole mattress to himself, for once.

               A soft pull on his heart told him Slade was downstairs.  It hadn’t been painful in days, even as he stretched their bond further and further.

               Dick traced his arm over the bed.  Something was … _wrong_.

               He sat up, frowning.

               It felt too solid.  He gnawed on his lip.  The bed needed more blankets.  Not to curl under, but just to soften the mattress.  Standing, Dick wound his towel around his hips and headed to the linen closet.

               A couple more blankets and some spare pillows helped.  But the instant he curled up, he bounced out of bed again.  Still not enough.  The bed needed to be softer.  Cosier.

               He padded downstairs, and reached for the small sofa cushions.  A blanket draped over the back of an armchair—he tossed it over his shoulder and marched back upstairs.

               Crawling over the bed, he piled the blankets and scattered the pillows, alternately curling up to test it, and leaping to his feet to shift everything around.  He ended with a semicircle of pillows around the top of the bed, a blanket at the bottom to tuck his feet into, and plenty of soft space in the middle.

               Fanning his face, Dick reached to turn the air con up.  How was it so damn _hot_ in here?

               He turned, and smiled with pride at his—

               At—at his—

               His heart clenched.

               _Nest._

               He couldn’t move.  _Shit.  Shit, no.  No, no, no._

               The air con blasted cool air, but he was still too warm.  He’d just showered, but his skin was slick with sweat.

               His hands crept into his hair, and clenched.

               The calendar was right there on the wall, but he didn’t look.  Didn’t need to.

               Dick stood, gasping for air, legs shaking.

               He was going into heat.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, after my day off! :)
> 
> Huge hugs to Roxie, the legendary beta of "Where the Light Won't Find You"), who helped me work through my writerly problems today - despite being all the way across the world in freakin' Japan. You are the BEST, hon. <3 <3 <3

_Heat._

               The word crashed around his mind, like a bullet ricocheting off the walls of his skull.

               Dick stared at the heap of pillows and blankets, heart thumping.  Slowly, he slipped his hands out of his hair.  Walked on stiff, half-numb legs.  Reached out.

               And ripped the blankets off.

               It all tumbled to the carpet, pillows bouncing away, sheets falling in soft, rippling mountains.  He snatched up the pillows, and threw them across the room with a snarl.  Kicked the blankets.  Ripped his perfect, cosy nest apart.

_Don’t let Slade see._

               His heart ached.  _Slade._

               He could run downstairs.  Find Slade, right now.  Drag him up here, and—and—

               Dick shook himself.  No.  No, he didn’t _want_ Slade.  He didn’t want this warmth creeping through his body.  Didn’t want to be pinned down and _used_ anymore—

               Hands shaking, he stumbled into the bathroom.  He tore through the cabinet under the sink, its contents a blur.  Combs, shampoo, nail clippers … no heat blocker tablets.  _Obviously._   Not even a bottle aspirin.

               Dick’s legs buckled.  He curled on the bathroom floor, and wasn’t sure if the trembles wracking his body were terror, or the oncoming heat pouring adrenaline through his blood.

               Bowing his head between his knees, he hugged his legs and tried and _tried_ to breathe.

               He couldn’t stay here.  He needed … needed to _move_.  Needed to burn the shaking hands and weak legs and thumping heart out of him.

               _Gym_.

               Never mind that he’d spent all morning in there.  It was perfect.  An air conditioned room, with no windows to let the sunlight blaze in, where he could run on a treadmill until he collapsed.  Slade wouldn’t even question it.  Of course Dick would be in the gym.  In his favourite room.  Of course.  It was normal.

               Staggering to his feet, Dick stumbled into the bedroom, scrambled into a pair of sweatpants, and then practically fell downstairs.  The mating bond coiled tighter round his heart, tugging.  He ignored it.  Basement.  Treadmill.  Cool.  _Alone._

               He didn’t notice the ache in his heart softening, until he stepped into the gym, and—

               _Slade._

               The barbell on his shoulders probably weighed more than Dick.  Muscles tightened in Slade’s arms and his bare chest as he rose from a squat, and lifted the weight overhead.  A droplet of sweat ran down his neck and collar, and into the soft hair on his chest.

               Dick’s vision fogged.

               He tried to breathe, slow and even.  _In, two, three.  Out, two, three._ But each inhale filled his head with alpha scent.  He whimpered, raising a hand to cover his face.

               Slade’s head snapped round.  ‘Dick?’

               Dick closed his eyes.  _Breathe.  Don’t look.  Breathe, and get out._

               Blood pulsed, low in his body.  Dick pressed his hand closer to his mouth, muffling a whine as his cock strained and _ached_.

               A metallic crash rang through the room, reverberating through Dick’s chest.  He opened his eyes on instinct, dropping into a fighting stance, fists raised and ready—

               Slade turned from the weight he’d just set down, and the ripple of muscles in his shoulders and back sent flames shooting down Dick’s spine.  His gaze locked with Dick’s, single eye burning with the sting of ice. 

               ‘What’s wrong with you?’  Slade advanced.  One step.  Another.

               Dick tried to bring his hand back up to his mouth.  To block that scent.  His fingers trembled, and didn’t lift.  ‘Nothing.’  The word came out in a hoarse whisper.  As Slade took another step, Dick inhaled the scent of sweat, and another overpowering layer of pure _alpha_.  His cock twitched, an ache building between his legs.  He staggered back.  ‘Stay—stay away—’

               ‘Dick—’

               The room whirled.  Dick stepped back again—and caught his heel on the stair.

               His stomach lurched. He tumbled with a shout, the room whirling around him.  He waited for the hard crack of the steps against his head—

               Slade caught his arm.  Dick yelped as his shoulder wrenched, and then Slade hauled him up.  The scent hit him like a punch.  Like a hand closing around his cock.  He bit back a groan.

               Slade pressed his nose into Dick’s hair.  He drew a breath …

               ‘You’re in heat.’

               ‘No.’  _Fuck_ , that alpha scent was good.  ‘No—I don’t—I don’t want—’  His mouth went dry.  He put a hand on Slade’s chest, and Slade’s skin was warm and solid.  Blood thundered in his ears.  Pulsed, low in his body.  ‘I—don’t—want—’

               Slade growled, low and soft, and it went through Dick’s bones like a thrum of electricity.  The white walls of the gym faded into a blur.  The world spiralled away, quiet and distant, until the only thing left was Slade.

               Alpha.

               If he didn’t run now, Dick realised faintly, he wouldn’t be able to.  He leaned into Slade with a long, low whine.  Slade’s grip loosened.  His arms crept up Dick’s back and smoothed over his neck.  Dick tilted his head, stomach tight, as Slade traced his jaw, inches from Dick’s scent gland—

               Dick dropped.

               Letting his legs fold under him, he slipped out of Slade’s arms.  He hit the floor hard, but flipped on his stomach, and got his legs under him, and _bolted._

               The stairs felt like scaling a mountain.  They tilted and whirled beneath him, but he forced his legs to keep moving.  Staggered into the hallway.  His chest tightened, and he snarled and kept moving.  The floor rocked, and suddenly the front door was below him, and all he had to do was fall—

               He crashed outside.  Gulped clean air.

               Behind him, Slade shouted.  But the words were garbled; a roar like rocks tumbling over a cliff.  His footsteps pounded in Dick’s head like strikes of thunder.

               The path through the woods was an endless tunnel.  As Dick stared, it seemed to grow deeper.  Darker.  The trees swayed like dancers.

_Run.  Run now, or go back to Alpha._

               He ran.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by the em dash.

The ground rippled like stormy seas.  Dick stumbled on another cresting wave, propellered his arms, got his foot down and used the momentum to lurch forward another step.  Another.  Either side of him, the trees flexed and stretched, their branches groping fingers, reaching for him—

               He shook his head.

               _Not real.  It’s not real._

               But the footsteps pounding behind him …

               Those were real.

               And if Slade caught him …

               Dick’s heart stuck in his throat.  His feet slammed on the dirt track, following the path carved by so many tyres.  At least the air was clear.  No alpha scent.  Just trees, and flowers, and dry dirt.  The deeper he breathed, the more the ground settled, and the trees withdrew their branches.

               The chain link fence glittered up ahead.

               And hand landed on Dick’s shoulder.

               He turned with a snarl—

               — _Grey eye.  Broad shoulders.  Alpha scent—_

               —and lunged.

               Slade darted aside with a grunt of surprise, and Dick skidded in the dirt before whirling to face him again.

               _Fight.  Fight, or surrender._

               Slade swept a fist at Dick’s head, but Dick dropped, snapping a foot out at Slade’s ankles.  Slade danced back, and Dick shot to his feet with an uppercut, forcing Slade to step back again.  Dick roared as he threw another punch, and another, because as long as he was on the offensive, Slade couldn’t hurt him.  Slade couldn’t pin him down, and—

               Slade caught his wrist.

               Dick flinched, ready for the near-deadly strike to the head that would send him sprawling.

               But Slade …

               _Hesitated._

               Dick slashed upwards with curled fingers, like an animal lashing out with claws.  He caught Slade’s blind side, carving four red welts across his cheek.

               Slade let out a roar that thundered in Dick’s ears, and his grip on Dick’s wrist spasmed—

               Dick wrenched free, and ran.

               The chain link fence loomed ahead, barbed wire glimmering in the sunshine.  Beyond it, the dark figures of two guards waited, turning to look over their shoulders as Dick charged to meet them.

               Dick took a flying leap, and hit the fence with a crash.  It sprang back against his weight, but he curled his fingers in, clinging with all his strength.  Pressing his toes into the wire, he scaled up, fingers burning with every inch.

               The men shouted below him, and Dick couldn’t make out any words until—

               ‘Don’t shoot!  _Don’t shoot him!_ ’

               Slade.

               Dick thrust an arm up through the coils of barbed wire at the top of the fence, and gripped the metal bar at its peak.  Hauling himself up, he tucked his toes and leaped—

               The barbs slashed his legs.  Ripped the skin from his fingers.  Dick snarled, tumbled, and landed in a crouch on the other side, inches from one of the guards.

               The guard barely managed to turn before Dick snapped a kick into his knee.  Bone crunched; the guard’s leg snapped sideways and he dropped with a scream.

               The second guard trained his gun on Dick.

               Dick leaped in as he fired.  The air trembled with the force of the shot, and over his shoulder Dick heard a bellow of, ‘ _NO!_ ’ before Slade crashed into the fence from the other side.  Fire clipped Dick’s shoulder.

               But Dick knocked the gun up with a snap of his arm, then planted his fist in the guard’s stomach.  His knuckles cracked against armour, and Dick cried out as white-hot pain shot up his arm, before launching another punch into the guard’s chin.

               The guard crumpled, and Dick stood gasping, clutching his fist to his chest.  He tested his fingers.  They flexed.  Not broken.  He touched his shoulder.  Blood—but only a graze.

               The fence rattled behind him.

               Dick swept round.  Slade’s hand curled round the bar at the top of the fence, and he hauled himself up—

               Dick turned back to the guards.  One screaming, clutching his leg.  The other out cold.

               His gaze flicked to their guns.

               He took a breath.

               And instead, reached for the shortwave radio on the unconscious guard’s belt.  It was heavy.  Solid.  Dick gripped it tight, and pelted down the path out of the woods.

               Behind him, Slade dropped to the ground.

               There was a road.  Somewhere.  _Somewhere._   He wished he could remember how far.  If he kept running, eventually this track would turn to tarmac, and then highway, and—

               Slade’s footsteps grew closer.

               Dick brought the radio up to his mouth.  The click of a button, and a red light flashed on the side of the heavy black box.  ‘Help me—’ he gasped, ‘—it’s Dick Grayson—it’s Robin—can anyone hear me—help, _please help_ —’

               A weight slammed into his back.

               Dick’s legs went out from under him.  The ground rushed up, and hit him with the force of a punch.  Dick gasped, head pounding, lungs crushed.  He felt like he’d been hit by a car.

               A hand curled round his wrist, and twisted his arm up behind him.

               Dick tried to scream, but he couldn’t draw in enough air.  Choking, he flailed.  Flipped over.

               Slade snarled down at him, single eye wide, pupil barely more than a pinprick.  His fist tightened around Dick’s wrist, as if he meant to crush Dick’s bones to dust.  Dick’s other hand closed around the radio.

               He swung it up at Slade’s head.

               Slade caught it.

               Snatching the radio out of Dick’s hand, he threw it overarm with a bellow.  It crashed against through the trees, and disappeared.  Dick kicked and twisted, striking up at Slade’s face.  Slade grabbed his other arm, and pressed both of Dick’s hands into one of his own.

               ‘Let me go!’ Dick snarled.

               ‘No.’  Reaching down, Slade curled his free hand into Dick’s hair.  ‘You are _mine_.’

               Dick tensed, ready for the bite.  But instead, Slade dragged Dick’s head up, and pressed Dick’s face into his throat.

               Alpha scent hit him like a wall.  Clamping his lips together, Dick twisted his head away.  _Don’t breathe.  Don’t breathe, don’t breathe, don’t—_

               Slade shifted his leg up, and pressed his knee between Dick’s legs.

               Dick gasped.

               And—

_Alpha, alpha, alpha, alpha—_

               A shudder wracked through Dick’s body.

               ‘No …’

               He hated how quiet his voice was.  How weak.

               ‘You want this, damn it.’  Slade yanked Dick’s head round, pressing him in closer to the scent gland.  ‘I am your alpha, and you _want this_.’

               Dick drew a breath.  And his whole world was _alpha, alpha, alpha_ , but he managed to bare his teeth—

               —and _bite_.

               Slade shoved him back before he could draw blood.  Dick whimpered as his head thudded into the dirt.  The ground swayed again.  Tipped from side-to-side.  Up through the tree branches, the sky dropped and rose, and dropped and rose, like a bird beating its wings.

               Slade moved his leg between Dick’s legs, and heat flashed through Dick’s body.  He whined, hands trembling in Slade’s grip.

               ‘That’s better.’  Slade’s voice was low, each word ground through gritted teeth.  He bent, and his teeth closed on Dick’s throat, returning Dick’s bite with another of his own.  Dick yelped and thrashed, but Slade buried his teeth deeper, almost deep enough to draw blood, and Dick fell still.

               Slade drew his head back, licking over the scars on Dick’s throat.

               ‘If you do this—’ Dick gasped.

               ‘What?’ Slade growled.  ‘You’ll never forgive me?’  He ran his tongue over Dick’s scent gland, pressing hard and slow, and Dick _screamed_ as shocks went down his spine like gunshots.  ‘You will, Dick.  You’ll _thank_ me.  You want this.’

               He let go of Dick’s arms, curling over him, licking and nipping at Dick’s throat, his ear, his scent gland.  Dick writhed and twitched.  He tried to strike up at Slade’s chest, but his arms were half-numb, and Slade only murmured in pleasure at his soft touch.

               Slade’s hand trailed down Dick’s body.  Slipped into his pants.  Curled around his cock.

               ‘No,’ Dick whispered.  ‘I don’t—I don’t want—I don’t—want—’

               He couldn’t remember what he didn’t want.

               He pressed his hands into Slade’s chest.  The ground was spinning.  No.  No, he was spinning.  Flipping over, Slade’s hands tight on his hips.  And then something pressed into his shoulders and Dick bowed, and he heard fabric tear and felt cold air on the back of his legs and—

               Slade, inside him.

               No slow, easy strokes.  No rolling in, drawing out, letting Dick catch his breath.

               Slade gripped Dick’s hips and fucked, and _fucked,_ hard and sharp and—

               And fuck, _fuck, so good, why was it so good—_

               Dick arched, and whined and sobbed, and the world crashed to pieces around him, hazy at the edges, too hot and too full and _not full enough_.  He clawed his fingers into the dirt, because he didn’t, he’d slip off, he’d slip right off the Earth and tumble endlessly into the glittering void of space—

               _Run, or go back to Alpha._

_Fight, or surrender._

               Dick held his breath, and let the heat scalding his skin burrow deeper.  Into his flesh, into his bones.

               Into that mating bond, twined around his heart.

               And as the world faded to a soft, dark, red mist, he felt Slade’s knot lock inside him.

_Not enough._

               Dick closed his eyes.

               And sank into heat.


	19. Chapter 19

Dick’s heat passed in flashes, like a broken radio skipping through channels.

               He didn’t remember Slade lifting him up, but next thing he was curled against Slade’s chest, Slade’s arms hooked under his shoulders and knees.  The forest swayed around them as Slade walked.  Back to the house.  Back home.

               Dick brushed his nose against Slade’s neck and inhaled that delicious, savoury scent.  When he pressed his mouth to Slade’s skin, he could _taste_ it.  He flicked his tongue out, just a little at first, and then in long, languid strokes.  The corner of Slade’s shoulder.  Up the column of his throat.  The scent—and taste—grew stronger, and Dick flashed his tongue over Slade’s scent gland—

               Slade groaned, arms tightening around Dick’s body. 

               And then Dick’s face pressed into pillows soft as clouds.  He closed his eyes, sinking as though in deep water.  Then Slade was over him, his arms pillars either side of Dick’s head, his body hot and sweat-damp and _delicious_.  Dick arched up.  Kissed Slade’s collar.  Swept his tongue into the dip at the base of Slade’s throat.  Brushed his nose into Slade’s beard, and breathed long and deep.

               Slade’s cock brushed his slit, and Dick curled his legs around Slade’s waist, locked his ankles together, and thrusted up as Slade pressed down.

               The room and the bed and Slade exploded into sparks.

               Dick braced his arms against the headboard, and flicked his hips up to meet Slade’s thrusts, over and over.  Flames crawled up his spine.  He moaned and clenched and came, white ropes splashing onto Slade’s stomach.  And Slade kept fucking and Dick gasped, and clenched his teeth—

               And gripped the headboard tighter.

               And fucked back.

               When Slade knotted him, Dick sank back into the pillows.  Slade bowed over him, pressing their foreheads together.  Dick murmured, but if he was trying to say something he forgot it the instant he started.  Slade curled his arms around Dick’s shoulders, gripping him tight until Dick almost couldn’t breathe.

               Dick didn’t remember moving, but the house moved around him.

               He was in bed, Slade’s arms draped around him.  He was on the sofa, head tilted back, legs spread as Slade’s tongue swept up his cock and Slade’s fingers pumped in his cunt.  He was in the shower, and suddenly realised he was alone, and shut the water off because he needed Slade, he needed Slade _right now, where was Slade?_   He was gathering the dropped pillows around the bed, folding the blankets and fluffing everything into a perfect nest.  He was in the shower again, Slade pressing him into the tiles as he fucked him from behind, hot water hissing down Dick’s shoulders.  He was curled in his nest, tracing the hard muscles of Slade’s stomach as Slade slept, and then tracing lower, and wondering if Slade’s cock tasted as good as the rest of him …

               Time slowed.

               He shifted down the bed, curled a hand around Slade’s limp cock, and pumped once, twice.  Slade jerked awake with a hiss, and then thumped his head back into the pillows, groaning as Dick curled his fingers just the way Slade always curled his fingers around _him_.  Pearly pre-come beaded on Slade’s cock.

               Dick lowered his head, and licked it off.  Slade made a low, choked-off sound, and Dick groaned, because _yes_.  Yes, Slade tasted _good_.  Licking his lips, Dick ducked and let Slade’s cock slide over his tongue, deep into the back of his mouth.  The savoury taste of alpha mingled with a residual note of sweeter, sharper omega slick.  Dick groaned again, because that was _him_.  That was his own scent, his own taste, lingering on Slade’s cock.

               Fingers crept into his hair.

               ‘That’s it.  That’s my boy.  That’s my sweet omega.’  The fingers tightened, and Slade rolled his hips, thrusting into the back of Dick’s throat.

               Heat flooded between Dick’s legs.  He gasped as Slade drew back, and then held his breath, letting Slade rock his hips again, dragging Dick down so he could fuck into his throat.  Dick’s arms trembled, slick trailing, warm and wet, down his legs.  He bowed his chest lower.  Flexed his hips up.  He ached for Slade’s cock inside him, for Slade’s knot, but the taste was addictive, and Slade’s hand was tight in his hair—

               When he came up for air, Dick whined, but Slade pushed him down again, slow and forceful.

               ‘Shh,’ he murmured.  ‘Shh, I’ll take care of you.  I want you to taste me first.  Good boy, open wide.’

               Dick shuddered, his own cock throbbing as he swallowed Slade again and again.  He jaw ached, and throat felt raw, and he opened his mouth wider and lapped at Slade’s cock, drinking in that heady taste.

               Slade’s hand fisted in Dick’s hair.  ‘Open your mouth.’

               A hard lump swelled at the base of Slade’s cock, brushing over Dick’s lips.  Slade grunted.

               ‘Open—tongue out—’

               Dick parted his lips as wide as they’d go, stretching his tongue out as Slade pulled back.

               Hot come sprayed over Dick’s tongue, bitter enough to make him flinch.  It hit his chin, and his neck, and then … after the bitterness came that familiar, delicious taste of alpha.  Dick opened his mouth, leaning forward to taste it again in the last ropes of Slade’s come.

               Slade slumped, bringing an arm up to cover his eyes.  Or _eye_ , rather, his black eyepatch askew in his ruffled hair.  Dick fell into the pillows beside him, swiping a hand over his chin and licking his fingers, messy and panting.

               Slade waited until he’d finished to slide a hand down Dick’s thigh squeeze his cock, and then press two fingers into his aching cunt.  Dick mewled, writhing as Slade pumped his fingers.

               ‘Want you to fuck me,’ Dick breathed.  ‘Want to feel your knot.’

               Slade laughed, soft and low.  ‘Impatient, aren’t you?’

               But Dick could see he was growing hard again, and maybe, he thought dazedly, omegas weren’t the only ones whose bodies changed because of heat.

               Slade got up and flipped Dick onto his stomach.

               And as Dick dropped into a presenting arch, he stopped thinking.

               He stopped thinking about anything at all.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, remember the innocent days of Chapter 1, when I thought this fic would only be five chapters? With this update, I've officially quadrupled that estimate. Turns out I'm real bad at maths.

Dick woke up sore.

               He hissed, pressing his face into the pillows.  Sharp, hot pulses thumped in his upper arm, and when he reached to touch it, his fingers grazed bandages.  The sound of the guard’s gunshot cracked through his head, and Dick’s breath stuck in his throat.

               Wincing, he tried to push himself up, but his muscles screamed in protest.  He felt like he’d run a marathon, scaled a mountain, and then been hit by sixteen-wheeler.  Beside him, Slade slept on his side, one arm reaching across the mattress as if to draw Dick in.

               Dick gritted his teeth, and forced himself up.  He leaned back on the headboard, squeezing his eyes closed.  His mouth was paper-dry, but reaching for the glass of water on his nightstand felt equal to crossing the Sahara.

               A pool of wet spread between his legs.

               Dick flinched.  Blood thumped low in his body.  Not the warmth of heat, but a tired, bruised ache.

               Slade drew a sharp breath.  His single eye flicked open, blinked once, and focused.  ‘Dick?’

               Dick’s face burned, and he tried and _tried_ not to think about what was dripping down his legs and soaking into the sheets.  Groaning, he forced himself up and out of the bed.  His legs wobbled, and he gripped the mattress until he was sure his knees wouldn’t buckle.  ‘I’m—I’m—’  He drew a breath, short and shaky.  ‘Bathroom.’

               He staggered to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.  The shower gleamed in front of him.  He stank.  He stank of sweat and sex and alpha and omega _—_

_Pressed against the tiles as Slade fucked him—_

_Arching up into Slade’s body—_

_Fuck, Slade’s cock tasted good—_

               Dick fell to his knees, braced his hands on the toilet, and threw up.

               He coughed and spat, reaching for toilet paper to wipe his lips.  His stomach clenched, and he bowed over the toilet and threw up again, bile blistering his tongue.  Shuddering, hands clenching on the porcelain, he closed his eyes and hot, sticky tears slipped down his nose.

               The bathroom door opened.  Dick sat up sharply— _forgot the lock—_ but that only wrenched his stomach, and he turned and threw up a third time.  Footsteps padded on the tiles.  Slade crouched beside him, and rubbed a warm hand between Dick’s shoulder blades.

               ‘It’s all right,’ Slade murmured.  ‘You’re all right.’

               Dick opened his mouth to respond, and a sob burst out instead.  ‘You made me—’

               ‘I didn’t make you do anything.’  Slade’s voice was infuriatingly level.  ‘You wanted it.  All of it.’

               ‘I was in _heat_ , you bastard.’  Dick barely managed to whisper.  His throat felt like he’d swallowed broken glass.

               He hurt.  God, he hurt all over.  He wanted his favourite beaten-up leather chair in Wayne Manor library, next to the fireplace, with Alfred humming behind him as he dusted the shelves.  He wanted the warmth of the sunset at the top of Titan’s Tower, and Starfire’s head on his shoulder.

               He wanted Slade’s arms around him.

               ‘Let me go,’ he whispered.  ‘Please, Slade.  Please, let me go.’

               Slade pulled him in.  Dick went without resistance, shaking with sobs as he leaned into Slade’s bare chest.  The alpha scent was still there, still powerful.  But instead of sending blood pulsing in low in Dick’s body, it urged him to relax.  _Hold on to Alpha.  You’re safe with Alpha._

               ‘I’m not letting you go anywhere.’  Slade pressed a kiss into Dick’s hair.  ‘You’re safe here.  Your heat is nothing to be ashamed of.  You were perfect.’  His grip tightened, crushing Dick’s sore muscles.  ‘My perfect omega.’

 

* * *

 

The mating bond, Dick realised numbly, had tightened again.

               After showering and getting dressed, he tried to head outside for fresh air.  He got two steps out the door before the crushing pain in his chest drew him back in the house.

               He found Slade in the kitchen, breaking eggs into a pan.  Not long ago, the scene might’ve been funny.  Slade, terrifying masked villain, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, making scrambled eggs.

               Now, Dick didn’t have the energy to laugh.

               Or the energy to resist his screaming instincts.

               He wound his arms around Slade’s waist, and pressed their bodies close, until the cord around his heart loosened, and he could breathe again.

               Slade hummed his approval, reaching back to squeeze Dick’s hip.

               _Safe with Alpha._

               Dick ate ravenously.  He barely tasted the first helping, and the second went down just as easy.  He couldn’t remember eating since he started his heat.  But then, he couldn’t remember much, besides the warmth of Slade’s body and the taste of his skin.

               ‘How long was I in heat?’  He kept his eyes fixed on his empty plate, twisting his fork between finger and thumb.  Sunlight streamed through the window, flashing on the metal.

               Slade reached under the table, resting a hand on Dick’s knee.  ‘Four days.’

               Dick closed his eyes.  _Four days._   Four days lost.

               ‘Or three and half.’  Slade shrugged.  ‘Since you started in the afternoon.’

               Dick’s stomach coiled.  He had to force the words out.  ‘Am I pregnant?’

               ‘Too soon to tell.’  Slade squeezed his knee.  ‘We can hope.’

               _Hope._   Dick scoffed.  ‘I was sick.’

               ‘You were in shock.’  Pushing his chair back, Slade stood.  He set his hands on Dick’s shoulders, their weight heavy as he leaned down.  ‘The sooner you prove you can have a child, the safer you are.  The state won’t protect a barren omega for long.’

               Dick let his fork clatter to the plate.  He looked up.  ‘And you?’

               Slade’s hands tightened on Dick’s shoulders.  He lifted a hand and cupped Dick’s cheek, and Dick automatically leaned into the warmth of his palm.  He closed his eyes, and hated how much his chest tightened as he waited.  Waited for the inevitable agreement.

               Hated that it would hurt to hear it.

               But Slade leaned in, and brushed a kiss on Dick’s forehead.  ‘I protect what’s mine.’ 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Sorry for the lack of update yesterday. Some plot stuff was really holding me back, and I needed a brain-break and some time to think things through before I kept writing (and possibly dug myself into a hole I couldn't get out of).
> 
> Think I've got things figured out now - fingers crossed for no more writer's block!

In hindsight, the outbreak was inevitable.

               Starfire sat cross-legged outside the Satellite infirmary, chewing her nails and watching the slow patrol of omegas through the doctor’s office.  One tight, worried face after another marched through the door, and then emerged.  Sighing with relief.  Grey and quiet.  Sobbing quietly.

               The rashes weren’t visible yet, for most of them.  Neither were the black spots on the tongue.  Just a few coughs and splutters, translated into a death sentence.

               Starfire wished she could tear through books the way Raven did.  That she could read every book on Earth about human illness, and medicine, until she found a way to help.  Or else she wished she could plug herself into a computer, like Cyborg, and download all the data they needed.

               Her friends were working so hard on Earth.  She ran a hand backwards through her hair.  _X’aat!_   Why was she so useless?

               Down the corridor, someone sneezed.

               ‘ _G’luthnog,_ ’ Starfire muttered.

               ‘Uh … gesundheit?’

               The voice was familiar.  Starfire snapped upright, staring at the approaching boy.  She frowned.  He was familiar, but …

               ‘Kid Flash?’

               He smiled, tugging at his hoodie.  ‘Guess I look a little different out of the canary yellow, huh?’

               Starfire swept to her feet, and pulled him into a hug.  ‘I did not know you were aboard!  It is good to see a friend.’

               ‘Hey, Star.’  He drew back and l eaned on the opposite wall, folding his arms.  He glanced up the corridor.  ‘Uh, outside the uniform, call me Wally, OK?  The League’s pretty hot on the secret identities thing.’

               Starfire’s eyes widened.  ‘Your identity has not been released?  Robin’s …’

               She stopped.  Her chest ached.

               Kid Flash—Wally—winced.  ‘No, the League got me out pretty fast.’  He lowered his voice, leaning in conspiratorially.  ‘Between you and me …’

               Starfire stepped in closer.  ‘Yes?’

               ‘I’m good at going fast.’

               Starfire stepped back.  ‘Wha—’

               Wally grinned, and after a moment—she snorted.  And then, because Wally’s smirk was altogether too ridiculous, she laughed.

               She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.

               ‘You’re not an omega,’ Wally thudded his back against the wall.  ‘What’re you sitting out here for?’

               The smile slipped off Starfire’s face.  An ache bloomed in her chest, like a flower opening petals tipped with thorns.

               ‘If I am honest … I am doing nothing of any help.’  The tension in the Crow’s Nest had grown unbearable since the last sighting of Robin.  Since she and Batman had found no further leads.  ‘I wish to rescue Robin.  He is Slade’s hostage, and I am afraid for him.  And I _cannot find him._ ’  Starfire wound her arms around herself.  ‘I know other omegas may need my help.’  She gestured helplessly at the infirmary door.  ‘Yet I cannot help them, either.  I have never known so many people to be in need of help, where I am so useless.’

               Wally was quiet for a long time.  ‘You’re not useless, Star.’

               The infirmary door opened, and a woman staggered out, her eyes red and wet.  She gave Starfire and Wally a brief miserable glance, and hurried away down the corridor.

               _Infected._

               Each one felt like another stone landing in Starfire’s heart.

               An instant later, the door opened again, and a red-headed doctor poked her head out.

               ‘Wallace West?’

               Wally groaned.  ‘ _Wally._ ’  He glanced at Starfire, and gave her a smile—a smile with none of the ease and good humour of before.  His lips twitched, like he could barely hold them up.  ‘Hey, uh … can you … come in with me?  I’m kinda nervous.’

               ‘Of course,’ Starfire said softly.

               She followed Wally through the doors and into the small office.  The doctor sat at her desk and Wally took the hard plastic chair opposite; Starfire floated up and perched on the plastic-covered bed in the corner.

               ‘Just a little blood test,’ said the doctor.  ‘No need to roll your sleeves up.  A prick on the finger will do—shouldn’t hurt at all.’  She glanced at Starfire, then back at Wally.  ‘Do you want to hold your friend’s hand?’

               Starfire started up, but Wally shook his head.  ‘No, no, I’m fine.’  He gave Starfire another shaky smile.  ‘I’m not gonna move in on Robin’s girl.  You have any idea the damage those birderangs can do to a man?’

               Forcing herself to return his smile, Starfire said, ‘I do.  And Robin’s aim is excellent.’

               Wally chucked weakly as the doctor pricked his finger, dropping the blood into a tiny glass phial.

               Wally took his arm back and sucked on his finger while the doctor dropped another liquid into the phial and shook it gently.  Gradually, it turned blue.

               ‘Good news.’  The doctor set the phial down with a clink.  ‘I’m happy to say you’re virus-free.  You’ll have to stay away from the quarantine quarters starting now, and I’ll book you in for another check-up in two days.  In the meantime, if you notice any rashes, black spots on the tongue, or flu-like symptoms—exhaustion, headaches, coughs and sneezes—you need to come to the infirmary immediately.’

               Wally let out a breath, hanging his head for a moment.  When he straightened, his smile was natural again.  ‘Thanks, Doc.’

               The doctor returned his smile, and glanced up at Starfire.  ‘Your turn?’

               Wally cackled, getting to his feet.  ‘Star’s an alpha, and an alien to boot.  Don’t think she’s got the virus, somehow.’  He nudged Starfire as she floated down from the bed.  ‘No scary needles for you.’

               ‘I am not afraid of needles,’ Starfire replied.  She wasn’t entirely sure what _needles_ was, but in the face of Wally’s bravery, she’d be ashamed to back down now.  ‘I will do it.’

               She looked at the doctor, who shrugged.  ‘We have plenty of test kits if you want to do it.  Can’t hurt, I guess?’

               Starfire took Wally’s vacated seat, and held out her arm.  ‘Very well.  Please, proceed with the needles.’

               The doctor frowned, but opened another test kit and pricked Starfire’s finger.

               Starfire folded her hands primly in her lap as the doctor swirled her blood with the other liquid in another tiny phial.  It swished, clear, and then muddied with the blood, growing darker … and finally settling on bright, glaring scarlet.

               The doctor knitted her brow.

               ‘Uh … that’s meant to go blue, right?’ Wally said.

               ‘Ye-es,’ the doctor said slowly.  She swiped the phial aside.  ‘The test must be faulty.  As an alpha, you can’t possibly …’  She hesitated.  ‘I have another batch of tests in the cupboard.  Different shipment.  One moment.’

               But the second test came out equally scarlet.  And the third—a strip of paper the doctor commanded Starfire hold under her tongue for one long, dry-mouthed minute—came out with a single word printed in blurred letters.

               _POSITIVE_

               The three of them stared at it, sitting damp in a plastic tray on the doctor’s desk.

               ‘Impossible,’ the doctor whispered.  ‘You’re an _alpha_.’

               In a small voice, Starfire said, ‘I am also, as Wally stated, Tamaranean.  Perhaps the fact that I am not from Earth has affected the test?’

               The doctor chewed her lip, fingers tapping on the desk.  Starfire clenched her hands in her lap.  She didn’t _feel_ unwell.  Earth illnesses never affected her.  Last spring, the entire team went down with a sickness bug that kept them confined to their beds for two days with buckets in their laps.  She hadn’t even felt queasy.  Even _Cyborg_ got sick more than she did.

               ‘Alphas don’t get _sick_ ,’ Wally said slowly, ‘but maybe they can still catch the virus.  Maybe … maybe they’re immune?  Like how people who get chickenpox as kids never catch it again.’

               ‘I have not heard of chicken’s pox,’ Starfire said, ‘but if alphas are, indeed, immune …’

               ‘We’ve found a cure!’ Wally crowed.  ‘Just stick some alpha cells in an omega and—’

               ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’  The doctor stood up, eyeing Starfire with a frown.  ‘You might be an exception.  As you said, you’re alien.  Your body might react differently to the virus.  Or—’ she winced, ‘—you might be the first alpha to contract the virus.  Just because you aren’t sick yet doesn’t mean you won’t _get_ sick.  I’ll need to keep you under surveillance, in quarantine.  And I need to test the rest of the people on this Satellite.  Everyone.  Alphas, betas …’  She shook her head.  ‘This is far from definitive.’  She glanced at Wally.

               ‘I understand,’ Starfire said.  ‘And I will undergo whatever tests—and needles—are necessary to aid you.’

               The doctor nodded.  Worry-lines creased her eyes, but for the first time in days, Starfire felt light.  The virus wouldn’t harm her.  She was certain of it.

               And when she rescued Robin, she do so with a cure in her pocket.


	22. Chapter 22

The stomach pains were getting worse.

               Dick turned up the treadmill, already gasping for breath.  A few days ago, the tight ache in his belly was easy to ignore.  It faded after a short walk in the woods—or better, a light jog, or swim in the lake.  But over the last week, the pain grew sharper.

               Feet thudding on the plastic belt, Dick glanced at the treadmill’s control panel.

               _Time Elapsed: 40:07_

               He pressed a hand to his stomach, sweat dripping down the crease between his eyebrows.  Forty minutes’ running had barely shaved the edges off the pain.  He hissed as another stab shot up his navel, like a twisting knife.

               Teeth gritted, he hit the red stop button on the control panel.

               The treadmill trailed to a halt.  Dick staggered off, pressing his hand into his belly.  He wanted to crush the pain under his palm.  To reach in and claw it out.

               To find Slade, and beg for help.

               He shook himself, pushing that instinct away.  It was only a stomach ache.  Nothing serious.

               _You know what it is._

               Dick ground his teeth, and stumbled upstairs.  ‘No,’ he muttered, ‘I do _not_ know what it is.’

               The bond tugged at his heart.  Slade was somewhere in the living room, but he walked past and headed up to their bedroom.  He needed a shower.  Or better, a bath.  The hot water would help …

               _Might help,_ Dick mentally corrected.  _It_ might _help, because I don’t know what it is._

               Waiting for the bath to fill was agonising, and Dick fumbled through the bathroom cupboards for painkillers, before remembering Slade kept the medicine locked away.  Groaning, he shut the cupboard door, thudded his head against it, and debated the merits of performing a hysterectomy on himself using nail clippers and a loofah.

               Not that he needed a hysterectomy.

               Because he didn’t know what this pain was, and it definitely _wasn’t_ what he thought it was.

               Even if the hot water did help.  A little.

               He sank into the steaming water with a groan.  The tub was large enough to stretch his legs, and rest his head on the edge.  He closed his eyes, breathing slowly.  Trying to ignore the tight _thud-thud-thud_ in his stomach.

               The doorbell went through him like a drill.

               Dick shot upright, water sloshing onto the bathroom floor.  Water which, suddenly, was lukewarm at best.  The afternoon light had dimmed through the fogged bathroom window; it was near sunset.

               His stomach tightened as he got up, and he hissed.  Reaching for the window, he opened it a crack.  Outside, a car engine rumbled softly.  Dick towelled himself off, tugging on comfy sweatpants and a t-shirt as the engine outside went silent.  Footsteps thudded up the stairs.

               Slade pushed through the bedroom door.  His hair was growing longer; while he’d insisted on trimming Dick’s twice now, he left his own to trail near his shoulders.  ‘Come downstairs.  The doctor’s here.’

               A cold, numb feeling crept down Dick’s spine.  ‘I’ve been here two months?’

               The days had blurred together.  Slade kept him busy, between hikes in the woods and training in the gym, and fucking him in virtually every inch of the house.

               ‘A little over.’  Slade’s single eye flicked to Dick’s stomach, and back up.  ‘What’s wrong?’

               Dick dropped his hand from his aching stomach.  ‘Nothing.’

               Slade’s stare was cold and unblinking, and it burrowed into Dick’s skin and tugged at the thread round his heart.  Dick winced.

               ‘Just … stomach ache,’ he said.  Then, when Slade opened his mouth, he quickly repeated, ‘It’s _nothing_.’

               Slade closed his lips—and smirked.  He put out his hand.  ‘Come downstairs.’

               Dick didn’t take Slade’s hand, but he did let Slade wind an arm around his waist as they headed down together.  The same dark-haired doctor from last month sat on the sofa, sorting through implements in her leather bag.  She glanced up as Dick approached, raised her eyebrows, and turned to Slade.

               ‘He looks well.’

               ‘I’m great thanks,’ Dick muttered, taking the seat beside her on the sofa.  ‘How’re you?’

               As before, she ignored him.

               Dick sat through the same dull tests as the previous month, the pain in his stomach rising and dipping in red-hot waves.  He wound an arm around his middle.

               ‘Stomach pains?’ the doctor said, like a cat pouncing on a baby bird.

               Dick sighed.  No point denying it.  Slade would only tell her if he lied.  ‘Yeah.’

               She stared into his face for a moment, and then—of course—looked up at Slade.  ‘How long?’

               Slade shrugged.  ‘He hasn’t mentioned them until now.’

               ‘A couple of days,’ Dick said, slightly louder.  ‘It’s worse today.’

               The doctor nodded smugly, barely glancing at him.  ‘He’s gone through heat?’

               Heat flooded into Dick’s face.  He opened his mouth, indignant, but no sound came out.

               ‘Yes,’ Slade answered for him.  ‘We’re hoping he’s pregnant.’

               Dick spluttered.  But again, he couldn’t seem to form words.

               The doctor didn’t smile, but a triumphant gleam lit up her eyes.  ‘Excellent.’  She ducked, reaching in her bag, and drew out a white plastic stick.  She held it out for Dick.  ‘Take this.’

               Dick pressed his lips together.  Hesitated.  And finally, miserably, plucked the pregnancy test out of her hand.  He turned it over in his fingers, teeth gritted.

               ‘Well?’  The doctor waved a hand at him.  ‘Now!  Go on.’

               Dick glared.  If he could shoot starbolts from his eyes like Starfire, the doctor would have been a pile of dust on the cushions.  But he couldn’t, and she wasn’t, and thinking of Starfire just made his chest hurt.

               So he got up on stiff legs, and marched to the bathroom.

               He didn’t bother to wait for the result.  Dick finished, clicked the cap back over the end of the test, and stalked back to the living room.  He dropped the test in the doctor’s lap and sat down, folding his arms around his aching stomach.

               Slade stepped closer, staring down at the test as the doctor picked it up and turned it over.

               ‘It will take a few minutes,’ she said.

               Nodding, Slade sank onto the sofa next to Dick.  His mouth was pinched, his grey eye hard as flint.  His arm slipped around Dick’s hips, and drew him in close.  Dick stiffened, but the warmth of Slade’s body automatically relaxed his muscles.  Including in his stomach, which soothed in seconds.

               What would happen if the result was negative?  He supposed they’d just try again after his next heat.  But what if—after months—the results continued to be negative?  Would they let him go?  Dick imagined open gates.  A wide road through the woods, with no one chasing behind him.

               Or …

               Pills to increase his hormones.  Injections to induce heat, to keep him constantly fertile.  A hospital bed, and feet in stirrups, and whatever operations they’d put him through to _force_ his resistant body to carry a baby.

               Across the sofa, the doctor tapped the pregnancy test against her knee.  Tap-tap-tap.  Slade squeezed Dick tighter.  His breath traced the back of Dick’s ear.

_Would they do that?_   Dick clenched his hands.  Would they drug him?  Operate on him?

               They’d already imprisoned him.  Given him to Slade.

               He shuddered.

               Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

               Dick couldn’t breathe.

               The tapping stopped.

               The doctor lifted the pregnancy test.  Looked at the result.  Straightened.

               She turned the test round, holding it up for them to see.

               ‘Congratulations.’

               Dick stared at the papery patch in the middle of the white plastic.  No blue lines, no plus or minus sign.  Whoever designed the thing wanted it to be perfectly clear.  A single black word was stamped across the white.

_PREGNANT_


	23. Chapter 23

Once, when Dick was nine, the Joker attacked a carnival at the Gotham docks.  The place was evacuated, but Dick still remembered those booby-trapped carnival rides.  The crashes of electricity from the bumper cars.  Fire tearing through the ghost train.  The carousel, whirling so fast the horses blurred, their painted eyes wide and mad.

               Dick felt like he was riding them all at once.

               Slade and the doctor talked as though he wasn’t there.  The words _trimester_ and _ultrasound_ floated past him, but Dick couldn’t hear them over that one word stamped on the slip of paper, pounding in his head like war drums.

               _Pregnant._

               He couldn’t move.

               _Pregnant._

               He couldn’t breathe.

               _I’m pregnant._

               ‘Naturally,’ the doctor said, ‘further precautions need to be taken to protect a pregnant omega.  I understand your security threatened him … ?’

               Slade’s arm tightened around Dick’s waist.  ‘The incompetents responsible have been removed.  Every man and woman guarding this house are now fully aware of the consequences of threatening my omega.’

               Finally tearing his gaze off the pregnancy test, Dick shuddered.  _Consequences._   He remembered the first guard’s bone crunching under his foot.  The second guard slumping to the ground.

               He’d defended himself.  But Slade …

               ‘Good to hear.’  Scooping the pregnancy test into her bag, the doctor stood.  ‘I’ll be back next month.  If his symptoms grow concerning …’

               Slade got to his feet, leaving Dick slumped on the sofa.  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

               Dick curled up his knees and buried his face in his hands.  His throat tightened, tears burning his eyes.  His chest felt heavy and hollow.

               A car rumbled outside, then gradually faded into the distance.  The front door clicked shut.  Slade’s footsteps paced across the room, back towards Dick.

               They were alone.

_Well …_

               Dick resisted the urge to touch his stomach.  It wasn’t a baby yet.  Just a ball of cells.  A ball of cells, growing inside him.  Growing into a person.  A person that would be born in this prison, trapped here with him and Slade.  The first of so, so many.

_Ten beds._

               Warm, heavy hands landed on Dick’s shoulders.  Slade squeezed, thumbs digging into muscles that screamed in protest.  Dick went rigid, teeth gritted.

               ‘Breathe, Dick.’

               Dick drew a breath, slow and shaky.  ‘I’m pregnant.’

               ‘Yes.  You are.’

               He let his hands slip off his face.  ‘What happened to the guards?  The ones that—the ones I fought?’

               Slade rolled his thumbs, working the tense knots of muscle until Dick sagged and groaned.  ‘It’s illegal to threaten harm to an omega.’

               Dick laughed, dry and bitter.  ‘Besides forcing them to mate with you?’

               Sighing, Slade let his hands fall still.  ‘Would you rather be dying of the virus?  Or shot dead outside the gate?’

               Biting his tongue, Dick clenched a hand over his stomach.  ‘I don’t want to be pregnant.’  His voice came out hoarse, as soft as paper whispering against paper.  ‘I can’t have a baby.  I don’t—I _can’t_ —’

               ‘Shh, it’s all right.’  Slade leaned down, his beard scratching Dick’s jaw.  His lips brushed Dick’s throat.  Softly first, then harder, teeth grazing soft skin.

               Dick turned, bringing his shoulder up to block Slade’s access to his throat.  ‘You got what you wanted.  So stop.’

               ‘What I wanted?’  Slade’s voice dropped.  He slid onto the sofa behind Dick, wound his arms around Dick’s body, and pulled him close.  ‘You think this—’ his hand slid down to Dick’s belly, fingers digging in, ‘—is all I wanted?’

               Dick shrugged, and then hissed as Slade pushed him, face-down, into the sofa.  Slade’s weight pressed into his body, his knees sliding up to rest near Dick’s hips.  A hand curled in Dick’s hair, and pulled his head back.  And the next kiss to Dick’s throat, hard and dominating, send shivers stampeding down his spine.  Dick whined, blood rushing low in his body.

               ‘I want _you_ , Dick.’  Slade’s lips fluttered over his ear.  ‘I have _always_ wanted you, since you were my apprentice all those years ago.  Since I first pinned you down like this, and drew a breath of your scent.’

_A dark hall, full of echoes.  Gears groaning high in the ceiling.  Pain lacing through his arm as Slade twisted it behind him.  The cold, hard floor pressing into his face.  Slade’s fist clenched in his hair._

               Dick’s stomach tightened.

               ‘I was fifteen,’ he hissed.

               ‘I was willing to wait.’  Slade ran his tongue slowly over the shell of Dick’s ear, eliciting another hiss, and a shiver.  ‘I was going to train you; mould you.  And when you were ready, when you were perfect, I was going to _take_ you.  My omega.’

               Dick wanted to shove him off, the way he’d have shoved Slade off years ago.  But blood pulsed between his legs, and he felt heavy and numb and weak.  He forced words up through his dry throat.  ‘I escaped.’

               ‘You won’t escape again.’  Slade brushed a kiss to Dick’s jaw.  ‘You don’t want to.’

               Dick tried to summon a retort, but Slade’s teeth grazed over his throat, and instead his threw his head back with a whimper.  Slade didn’t bite down—didn’t need to.  His hand slipped down Dick’s body, pressing again into his stomach.

               ‘This is good news, Dick.  This is how you stay here, with me.’

               His hand slipped lower, under the waistband of Dick’s sweatpants.  He curled his fingers around Dick’s cock, tugging softly.  Dick ground his teeth, trembling.  He couldn’t.  He _couldn’t_ —

               Slade ground his hips down, his cock pressing into Dick’s ass.

               Dick closed his eyes.

               And sank into the cushions.

               No point fighting.  No _good_ fighting.  Slade was Alpha.

               And Alpha got to bite him; to fuck him; to _keep_ him.  Got drag Dick’s sweatpants down to his knees.  Got to pull Dick’s hips up, and thrust into his wet cunt while Dick whimpered and moaned and clenched his fists in the pillows.

               Alpha got what he wanted.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all!
> 
> I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have to cut down the update schedule a bit. Trying to write, edit and post a chapter every day was fine for a few days, but after three weeks, I'm pretty burned out.
> 
> Don't worry, I'm NOT abandoning the fic! Not by a long shot! Updates will now be twice weekly (Thursdays and Sundays). This Sunday's chapter may come a little late, as I'm going on a weekend mini-break with my partner, but I promise that I will be very much back in business by Thursday. :)
> 
> Thank you so much everyone for reading! I hope you continue to enjoy! <3

Three weeks, and Starfire still wasn’t sick yet.

               The halls of the quarantine zone blurred at the corners of her vision as she walked, flicking through Star Labs’s latest medical research report.  The communicator screen burned her eyes, but she forced herself to keep reading.  In Tamaranean, she might’ve understood half of it.  In English …

               She sighed, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

               And stumbled over a shape on the floor.

               Gasp catching in her throat, Starfire caught herself halfway to the floor, and floated up into the air.  She turned, and saw what—or rather, _who_ —she’d fallen over.

               The woman sat slumped against the wall, head rocked to the side, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.  She blinked as if just waking from sleep, and looked up at Starfire.  A scarlet rash mottled her throat.

               Clipping her communicator on her belt, Starfire landed gently on the floor.  ‘Are you all right?’

               Stupid question.  No, she wasn’t all right.  No omega in this part of the satellite was really ‘all right’.

               ‘Just … got tired,’ the woman mumbled.  ‘Needed to sit down.’

               Starfire offered her hand, giving the woman a soft smile.  ‘Here.  I will help you.’

               The woman took her hand, her palm cold and clammy.  Starfire pulled her up, but the instant the woman got to her feet, she stumbled.  Starfire swept in, catching her bridal-style.

               ‘Sorry,’ the woman said.

               ‘Do not apologise.’  Starfire floated up.  The woman weighed next to nothing, and it was only a short flight to the newly-designated infirmary.

               It used to be a meeting room.  But the grand table was missing, stashed away and replaced with row upon row of starchy-white cots.  Starfire slipped inside, picked an unoccupied cot with sheets tucked into tidy hospital corners, and set the woman down.

               Nurses in sky-blue scrubs picked their way between cots, occasionally pausing to bend over someone, or crouch beside a bed.  They wore surgical masks, although they were all alphas and betas.  Starfire waved a man over.

               ‘Please.’  She gestured at the woman, now lying with eyes closed, breathing deeply.  ‘She collapsed outside.’

               The nurse’s eyes crinkled as he smiled behind the mask.  Starfire imagined it was a gentle smile, full of kindness and pity.  ‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’

               Starfire nodded.  _Keep an eye on her._   Because that was just about all they could do.

               Until they found a cure.

               Reaching for her communicator, Starfire flicked back to the Star Labs report.

               Stepping away from the cot, and out of infirmary, she tried again to wrap her head around it.  From what she could decipher, it confirmed her original suspicions.  Alphas and betas could carry the omega virus, and pass it on, but it didn’t seem to affect them. Starfire scanned over a long and complex debate about incubatory carriers versus convalescent carriers and the mechanics of asymptomatic carriage, and slumped against a wall with a groan.  She slipped to the floor, head bowed over her knees.  With a few taps, she sent the report to Cyborg.  Perhaps he’d make something of it, what with the amount of medical knowledge that went into keeping his body ticking.

               ‘Wow, you look _bummed_.’

               Starfire blinked.  She recognised that voice …

               She looked up, and shot to her feet.  ‘Wally?’

               The corner of his lips twitched in a weak smile.  ‘Maybe I should come back later?’

               ‘You should not come here at all!’  Starfire shoved her communicator onto her belt, grabbed Wally by the elbow, and pulled him down the corridor.  ‘You will catch the omega virus.’

               ‘Uh …’ Wally’s voice wavered.  ‘About that.’

               Starfire stopped short, heart sinking into her stomach.  Her hand slipped off Wally’s arm.  ‘No …’

               ‘Blood test this morning.’  Wally swallowed.  ‘Guess I get new digs in quarantine now.’

               Drawing a shaky breath, Starfire put her hand on Wally’s shoulder.  ‘Wally … I am so sorry.’

               He drew himself up, grinning a wide, fixed grin.  ‘No need.  We’re getting a cure any day now, right?  I won’t even have time to get sick.’

               A lump stuck in Starfire’s throat, but she nodded.  ‘Of course.’  Her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and started again.  ‘I was just reading a report from Star Labs.  It is most positive.’  Hand slipping off Wally’s shoulder, she patted the communicator at her belt.  She tried to smile, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate.  ‘I am certain all will be well.’

               ‘Good,’ Wally said brightly.  ‘Now say it again with feeling, for the big guy.’

               He nodded over her shoulder.  Starfire turned, frowning.

               And froze.

               Batman stalked down the corridor with a face like storm clouds.

               His shoulders were hunched, black cloak swirling around him, hands fisted at his sides.  Alfred scurried behind him, his face grey and drawn.  As they drew near, Starfire sagged.

               ‘You are also infected?’

               ‘Apparently,’ Batman growled.

               Wally leaned close to Starfire, whispering loudly, ‘He’s mad because they made him leave the Crow’s Nest.’

               Batman shot him a look that could melt steel.  ‘All my work towards finding Robin—'

               ‘We shall simply have to set up shop in _this_ part of the Satellite,’ Alfred said, as though speaking to the world’s largest and deadliest stroppy toddler.  ‘I’m certain the equipment here will be serviceable.  Robin would not wish us to lose faith because of a hiccup.’  He glanced at Wally.  ‘Pardon my wording, Master West.  Of course, for some of us, this is all rather more … difficult.’

               Batman’s eyes softened as he turned to Wally.  ‘I’m sorry.  If you caught this off me—’

               ‘I could’ve caught it off anyone,’ Wally said firmly.  ‘C’mon, let’s go set up your new high-tech bat space office and find Robin.  All this standing around is making me jittery.’  He shimmered, and then a Wally-shaped blur whizzed around the corridor, stirring a breeze that tossed Starfire’s hair into her face.  An instant later, Wally stood beside her again, clothes ruffled, grinning as Starfire spluttered and clawed her hair out of her face.

               ‘Agreed,’ Batman said.  ‘But we are _not_ calling it the Bat Space Office.’

               ‘Yeah.’  Wally linked arms with Starfire, and then, to her shock, courageously looped his other arm through Batman’s.  He drew them down the corridor, tilting his head back in thought.  ‘It needs a name with more mystery.  How about … _The Black Hole_?  No—no wait—that sounds like—never mind.’

               Batman slipped his arm out of Wally’s.  ‘Absolutely not.’

               But Starfire could swear a smirk had twitched his lips.

               Before Wally could attempt to snag Batman again, Alfred swept in and locked arms with him.  ‘I believe a constellation name would suit our centre of operations, don’t you?  I am partial to Orion.’

               They headed down the corridor together, and Starfire tried to feel hopeful.  They would find Robin.  They would find a cure.  They _would_.  And Starfire’s joy would fly her all the way to Earth to rescue him.

               But every time she glanced at Wally, she saw the strain in his smile.  The creases at the corners of his eyes.

               And she felt so heavy, she doubted she could lift herself an inch off the ground.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said Sunday's chapter would be late, but this is a little later than I intended. Whoops ... ^^;

The new calendar on the kitchen wall haunted Dick.

               He tried to ignore it.  To ignore the circled dates of future doctor visits and tests and scans.  To ignore the way time was slipping through his fingers like sand.  Each neatly crossed off day was another bar slamming shit on his prison cell.  Another day he hadn’t escaped.  Another day his friends hadn’t found him.

               Another day pregnant.

               At least he could ignore the calendar.  He could choose not to look at it.  Could choose not to step in the kitchen; Slade wouldn’t let him go hungry.  More than once, Dick had looked up to find Slade pushing a sandwich towards him with a frown, as if he suspected Dick of deliberately starving himself.

               But worse than the calendar was the _book_.

               It showed up with their weekly groceries.  Dick, elbow-deep in broccoli and cucumber and searching for the protein bars Slade always ordered, found paper wedged in the corner of the crate.  He wiggled it out with a frown, and then scowled as the salmon-pink cover and bubbly white font.

 _Pregnancy Week By Week_.

               His stomach dropped into his feet.

 _No way._   His hands tightened on the cover, crinkling the pages.  _This is a joke.  This is a—_

               He glared up at Slade.

               Slade, packing milk and eggs in the fridge, soundly ignored him.

               Straightening his back, Dick opened a drawer at random.  He shoved the book underneath the cutlery tray.  The knives and forks rattled as he slammed it closed.

               _There,_ he thought savagely.  _Sit there and rot._

 

* * *

 

He shouldn’t have expected it to work.

               The next day, he came up from the gym and found the book in his spot on the sofa.  He snatched it up, glaring around the room, but the soft tug of the mating bond on his heart told him Slade was still downstairs, working through his weights in the gym.

               Scowling, Dick stuffed the under the cushions and marched upstairs to shower.

               The following morning, he woke up with the book on his pillow.

               It became the world’s most frustrating game of hide-and-seek.  Dick waited every day for Slade to mention it—to demand he read the damn thing—but even when Slade walked by and _saw_ Dick shove the book into the tangle of wires behind the TV, he only smirked and carried on past.

               And of course, the book showed up in the gym the next day, balanced on the seat of the rowing machine.

               Dick shoved it up into the eaves on the porch.  Next morning, the book tumbled out the cereal box as Dick poured his granola.  He tore apart the running machine in the gym, and shoved the book inside under the belt.  Next day, he found the book in his underwear drawer, boxers neatly folded around the tattered pages.  Snarling, Dick pulled it out and shoved it in the waistband of his running shorts.

               Fine.  _Fine._   He’d get rid of the damn thing.  One way or another.

               Slade’s voice rang up the stairs.  ‘Dick are you ready?’

               Snatching up his trainers, Dick stalked down the stairs, fuming.

               It wasn’t comfortable, going through their daily run with the book wedged into his waistband.  The spine dug into his hip, and it kept trying to slip down inside his shorts.  Dick grunted as he reached back for the hundredth time, hiking the book up, and Slade glanced over but said nothing.

               Until they reached the fence.

               Dick pulled the book out, and hurled it over the fence.  It sailed, tumbling end-over-end, pages flapping, and landed high in a sycamore.

               Slade snorted a laugh.  Or possibly sighed.  It was hard to tell, both of them panting as they ran.  Dick shot him a glare, and put on a burst of speed, overtaking Slade the rest of the way home.  When he reached the house, gasping and heaving, he bent over and almost threw up on the porch.

               He hadn’t felt so good in weeks.

               No sign of the book the next morning.  Or the following day.  And Slade didn’t threaten punishment, or even bring it up.  Dick eyed him while they ate breakfast, or swam in the lake, or watched TV in the evenings, but Slade seemed perfectly content for the book to remain up in that tree.

               Until the evening Dick lifted the lid on the toilet and it was _there_.  Balanced on a layer of saran wrap, hovering over the bowl.

               Dick snatched the damn thing up with a scream.  He stormed into the bedroom, where Slade sat in bed, legs stretched out, thumbing through Dick’s copy of _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ with apparent interest, despite the fact his eye clearly wasn’t following the lines of text.

               Dick held the book up.  ‘I’m not reading it.’

               Raising his eyebrows, Slade peered over the edge of _The Hound of the Baskervilles_.  ‘If you did, it could put your mind at rest.’

               Dick opened a page at random.  He scanned the words, scowled, and glanced back up.  ‘At fourteen weeks,’ he read, ‘the foetus’s kidneys begin making urine, which means your baby is now able to pee inside your womb.’  He tossed the book at the bed.  ‘Great.  Thanks.  I feel so much better.  I’m glad this—’ he waved his hands, trying to summarise everything—the house, the fence, the mating bond tugging at his chest, the child growing inside him—in one gesture, ‘—is all a goddamn _game_ to you.’

               ‘Then burn the book,’ Slade said.  ‘Rip the pages out.  Try putting it in the one place you _haven’t_ tried yet—the trash.’

               Dick stared, mouth opening and closing.  He hadn’t—he hadn’t even thought—

               Why hadn’t he thought of destroying it?

               Setting aside _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ , Slade rose smoothly to his feet.  ‘You’re having this child, Dick, and you can’t stop it.  You _won’t_ stop it, because you don’t want to, but you won’t admit it.’

               He stepped close, and the mating bond warmed Dick’s chest.  Dick tried to stumble back, but his feet were locked in place.

               ‘You enjoyed trying to hide that book from me,’ Slade said.  ‘I’ve watched you stare at that calendar in the kitchen like it’s counting the days to your execution and not the birth of your child.’

               Dick hissed.  ‘That’s not—’

               ‘Believe it or not,’ Slade said over him, ‘my sole purpose in mating you was not to keep you miserable at all times.  If playing games with a book will stop you sulking and fretting, we’ll play games with the fucking book.’

               Dick snarled, face burning.  ‘I didn’t want you to mate me.  I didn’t want _any_ of this.’

               ‘You didn’t want to die of that virus, either,’ Slade snapped.  ‘That was the alternative.’  He glared down at Dick, and gradually, his face softened.  He put his hands on Dick’s arms, and Dick wanted to push him away but the mating bond twisting up inside him, pulling him closer by that thread in his chest.  ‘I am trying to make this easier for you, Dick.  You don’t have to fight me every step of the way.’

               Dick glowered.  But when Slade drew him up into a kiss, he didn’t have the energy to resist.

 

* * *

 

The book waited on his nightstand the next morning.

               He waited as Slade got up, dressed, and stepped outside to make breakfast, bond tugging softly as he walked away.  Then Dick reached for the book, and flipped through the pages.

 

_7 WEEKS PREGNANT_

_Your baby is now the size of a blueberry, or about as big as your thumbnail.  He or she has already started developing tiny arms, legs and even kidneys.  Their brain and spinal cord are starting to take shape, with the coccyx poking out your baby’s bottom like a tail.  His or her eyes look like little black dots, with translucent folds beginning to form eyelids._

 

Dick lifted his hand, staring at his thumbnail.  He tried to imagine a person that small.  A tiny pink tadpole with an overlarge, alien head, and the first buds of hands and feet.

               His chest tightened, as if he were tugging at the mating bond.  But he could still feel Slade downstairs in the kitchen, and that wasn’t enough distance to hurt.  He chewed his lip.  Hesitated. Spread his hand over his belly.

               _Tadpole._

               It was a stupid name, and he shouldn’t even be _giving_ the damn thing a name, but …

               He imagined holding it in his cupped hands.  A little, wriggling, almost-baby.  His tadpole.

               ‘I don’t want you,’ he whispered.  ‘And I guess you don’t want me, either.  You’d probably rather have a parent who’s excited.  Someone who’s always wanted a baby.’  He bit his lip.  ‘But I guess we’re stuck with each other, so …’

               He tightened his hand on his stomach; the closest thing he could imagine to giving it a hug.  He wondered if it could feel it, with that nervous system still growing, cell by tiny cell.  Probably not.

               Didn’t matter.

               He slipped the book under his mattress, slid out of bed and got dressed.  And spent the rest of the day focused on keeping his hands off his stomach, on _not_ touching it.  Not letting Slade see.

               And Slade smirked, and said nothing.


	26. Chapter 26

Dick was swimming when the nausea kicked in.

               It wasn’t even the smell of food that did it.  Bacon, he’d expected—the pregnancy book had warned him about bacon.  And garlic and onions and fried food.  All, according to the book, common triggers for morning sickness.  And all conspicuously absent from the meals Slade put in front of him over the last few weeks.

               The book hadn’t warned him about _flowers_.

               He was swishing through a leisurely breast stroke in the lake when Slade lapped him for the third time.

               ‘Don’t be lazy.’ Slade turned over in the water to look back at Dick.  ‘You can swim faster than that.’

               Dick opened his mouth to retort, and a breeze wafted into his face.

               His stomach turned before he even registered the smell.  Dick slammed a hand against his lips, throat tightening as he fought the rising swell in his oesophagus.  He thrashed.  Floundered for the shore.

               Slade called out behind him, his voice sharp.  ‘Dick!  Where are you going?’

               Dick shook his head.  Trying not to breathe.  Not to smell.

It was like perfume.  The most cloying, overpowering, sickening perfume he’d ever smelled.  Sweeter than syrup.  Chalky, like out-of-date chocolate.

               He staggered up on shore, bent over his knees, and heaved.

               The remnants of his breakfast seared his tongue and burned his lips.  He shuddered, throwing up again and again.  Water sloshed in the lake, and then Slade was with him, his hand on Dick’s back.  He stood quietly, rubbing between Dick’s shoulder blades, until Dick’s stomach tightened around nothing.  Empty.

               ‘Sorry,’ Dick croaked.

               ‘It’s normal.’  Slade bent, scooped a towel off the ground and threw it over Dick’s shoulders.  ‘Let’s go home.’

 

* * *

 

After that, it came in waves, sometimes low enough for Dick to ignore, sometimes rising until he crouched over the toilet and emptied his stomach.  It never faded entirely.

               He refused the next morning’s run, wary of going outside.

               ‘I’ll use the treadmill in the gym,’ he said, when Slade narrowed his eyes.  Because god forbid he took one day off their regime of running, swimming and weights.  If not for the baby, he didn’t doubt Slade would have added fighting into that mix.

               Slade gave an unconvinced grunt, but didn’t argue further, and even left to run alone once he saw Dick heading into the gym as promised.

               Dick waited at the top of the stairs as the tug at their mating bond grew tighter and tighter, until Slade had gone as far as he wanted.  After a minute, Dick realised he was circling the house in wide laps, not allowing the bond to grow painful.  Letting out a sigh, Dick headed downstairs for his own run.

               Except the gym wasn’t safe, either.

               The smell of accumulated sweat, combined with plastic and leather and metal, hit him like a wall.  Dick’s stomach flipped before he set foot on the treadmill.

               He barrelled back upstairs and barely reached the bathroom in time.

               Gritting his teeth, he wiped his mouth, gulped water from the sink, and marched back downstairs.  He was going to do this run, sickness be damned.

               Slade found him an hour later, arms folded on the toilet seat, forehead resting on his wrists, intermittently sobbing and throwing up.

               ‘I can’t even go in the _fucking_ gym.’  His voice was raw as steel wool.

               Slade crouched behind him, curling a hand on Dick’s shoulder.  ‘It won’t last.’

               Dick rocked back, and Slade caught him without complaint, drawing him up close.  ‘Book says it should stop in the second trimester.’  Dick sniffed, long and loud and wet, and for some reason Slade still didn’t let him go, even though Dick knew he was utterly disgusting right now.  ‘I’ve got a month of this to go.’

               ‘I’ll speak to the doctor if it lasts that long,’ Slade said.  ‘She can give you something.  For now—’ he stood, pulling Dick up with him, wrinkling his nose, ‘—you need a shower.’

 

* * *

 

‘Morning sickness’, Dick realised, was a goddamn lie.

               It didn’t happen in the morning.  Or it did, sometimes.  And sometimes it happened when he smelled dinner.  Or when he got a whiff of his lemon-scented soap in the shower.  Or when he opened a window, and smelled pine.

               A more accurate name would be ‘totally random bouts of sickness because pregnancy is a bitch’.

               After three days, he found himself clinging to his lower belly as he bent over the toilet for the millionth time.

               ‘Why are you doing this to me, Tadpole?’ he moaned

               Except it wasn’t Tadpole’s fault.

               No.  He knew exactly whose fault it was.

               But as Slade pushed through the door with a glass of water and pile of dry crackers, Dick didn’t have the energy to hate him for it.

 

* * *

 

He gave up on hiding indoors.

               The smells in the house weren’t any better than the smells outside, and anyway after a few days the air tasted stale, and Dick’s legs itched for exercise.

               ‘You seem better,’ Slade said at the lake, after their morning run went down without any explosive vomiting.  His smile was unbearably close to smug.

               Dick shrugged.  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

               But truthfully, his stomach was still bubbling, threatening to worsen at any random provocation.  Dick forced himself to swim gentle laps, not bothering to keep up with Slade.  But the slosh of the water against his body and the memory of his first sickness—now cleaned up, presumably by some poor guard—tightened Dick’s throat.

               He clambered out the water after only a few minutes.

               ‘I need a walk,’ he said.  ‘I’ll just be a second.’

               Slade gave him a warning look, but didn’t follow.

               The walk didn’t help.

               Dick’s stomach turned and flopped and twisted as he marched through the woods.  He took long, slow breaths, fighting the urge to be sick.  Maybe it would just go away.  Maybe—

               He only realised he’d reached the fence when a strange voice called,

               ‘Mr Grayson?’

               Dick straightened with a flinch.  Through chain links, a uniformed guard watched him warily.  He looked Bruce’s age, with a broad nose and a ginger moustache.  His hands were locked around a sleek, black rifle.

               ‘You OK, Mr Grayson?’

               Dick stared.  _Mr Grayson?_

               The guard hesitated.  Then, slowly, he lowered the gun.  ‘… Richard?’

               ‘Dick,’ Dick corrected instantly.  Swallowing, he stepped back.  ‘I’m OK.  I’m won’t—I’m not trying to escape.’

               The guard smiled softly.  ‘I figured.  You look like hell.  Want me to call Mr Wilson?’

               ‘No, no, please, it’s OK.’  Because Slade finding him here, at the fence, alone … he shuddered.  Dick’s stomach twisted and he winced, pressing a hand to it.  The guard reached for the radio at his belt, but Dick put his hand up.  ‘It’s just—’

               But he had to stop, pressing his lips together as a lump rose in his throat.

               ‘Morning sickness?’ the guard said.

               Heat flooded Dick’s face.  He nodded miserably.

               ‘My wife got it, too,’ the guard said.  ‘She used to cuss out our baby girl a storm, between throwing up.  I’m surprised that girl didn’t come out swearing like a sailor.’

               Dick laughed weakly.  A weight lifted in his chest.  This was the first friendly person he’d spoken to in weeks.  The first person who wasn’t Slade, determined to keep him here, or the doctor, testing his body like she was fine-tuning a machine.

               Dick dared to open his mouth.  ‘Did your wife ever find a cure?’

               The guard raised his eyebrows.  ‘Damn right she did.  She said it worked for her mother, too.  Genetic, or something.  But you’re not gonna like it.’

               Dick winced.  ‘I’ll try anything.’

               ‘Fried egg, chilli, chutney sandwiches.’

               Dick threw up.

               He tried not to do it in the guard’s direction, but it came up without warning and the most he managed was to turn away and get the splatter somewhat behind him.  The guard swore, and Dick heard the crackle of a radio and frantic chatter.

               ‘I’m OK,’ Dick groaned.  ‘I’m OK.’

               ‘I’d rather Mr Wilson took you home,’ the guard said.  ‘Shit, I’m sorry, kid.  We’re meant to be looking after you, not making you sick.’

               Dick laughed, hoarse and bitter.  Looking after him.  Sure.  That was what they were doing.

               But when he looked up, the guard’s face was creased with panic, and it hit Dick like a leaden punch that _fuck_.  Maybe that _was_ what they thought they were doing.  Slade said he’d replaced the old guards.  Maybe he lied to these new ones.

               Or maybe they lied to themselves.

               _They had to keep the last omegas safe._

               ‘What’s your name?’ Dick said.

               The guard hesitated.  ‘Alf.’

               Dick’s lip twitched, and he wasn’t sure it was a smile or a frown.  ‘Short for Alfred?’  Heavy footsteps thudded closer through the woods; Slade racing to find him.  ‘I have a friend called Alfred.’  He licked his dry lips.  ‘If you hear from him, tell him I’m OK?’  He glanced over his shoulder.  Slade was coming, a dark shape in the woods.  ‘If you hear from anyone …’

               Alf nodded, his brow knitted.  ‘Sure, kid.  Sure.’

               Next thing, Slade’s arm was around Dick’s shoulder.  He nodded at Alf, and drew Dick quietly away.  And Dick chewed his lip, and thought—

               _Genetic, huh …_

 

* * *

 

Making it down into the gym was a miracle.

               Dick held his breath down the stairs and across the room, and kept holding it until he was up on the rings, and swinging.  He kept his lips pressed together until his lungs burned, and then finally, cautiously, took a breath.

               Sweat and plastic and leather and metal and—

               No nausea.

               He grinned.  ‘OK, Tadpole.  I get it.’

               He swung forward, flipping over the rings and then lowering, arms out straight either side of him.  He waited a few seconds, then went back to swinging.

               Slade’s footsteps rang down the stairs a minute later.  He eyed Dick, still swinging and flipping, and folded his arms.  ‘You do remember you’re pregnant?’

               Dick grunted an affirmative.

               ‘Get down.’  Slade crossed the room in a few steps, his brow low.

               ‘Not yet,’ Dick said.  ‘Swinging stops the nausea.’

               Slade snorted.

               ‘I mean it.’  Dick flipped a few more times, the gym whirling and blurring around him.  Then he slowed to a gentle back-and-forth, rocking softly.  ‘When my mum was pregnant with me, she said the only thing that stopped her feeling sick was swinging on the rings.’  He hesitated, the memory of his mother coming back in a burst like sunlight.  The softness of her hug; the warmth of her smile.  ‘She said that’s how she knew I’d be an acrobat like her.  The best of them.’

               Slade stared at him for a long time, single eye narrowed.  Slowly, he unfolded his arms.  ‘And our child?’

               Rocking back and forth, Dick tilted his head.  ‘Well … I don’t feel sick anymore.’

               And Slade smiled.  Not a smirk.  An actual _smile._   ‘We’ll have to build a bigger gym.’

               Dick laughed, pushing himself up on straight arms.  Slade didn’t move, even as he tipped upside down, spread his feet in the splits, and then flipped right side up again.  ‘I don’t need a safety net,’ he said.  ‘You can go.’

               ‘I know,’ Slade said.  ‘You won’t fall.’

               ‘So why are you standing there?’

               Slade shrugged.  ‘So you know you can.’

               A pulse of warmth filled Dick’s chest, and he smiled.  Then he tilted his feet back, and continued to swing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge credit to my gorgeous friend and beta, Roxie. The conversation at the end of this chapter was her idea, and I've been so excited to write it.
> 
> Credit to Red Dwarf for the fried egg, chilli, chutney sandwich - a concept so appalling it could make anyone vomit, morning sickness or not.


	27. Chapter 27

It was a week before the spots appeared on Wally’s tongue.

               Starfire found him in their new base of operations, hunched in his seat, staring at lines of glowing text.

               The new base was a converted closet.  Computer screens lined the shelves, once piled with buckets and mops and bottles of disinfectant.  Paper maps covered one wall, stuck with hundreds of pins.  Red for omega virus outbreaks, and just a few blue—places Robin had been sighted.

               As she walked in, Starfire reached up and touched the blue pins.  A good luck charm.

               She slumped in the seat beside Wally.  ‘You are alone.’

               The room was rarely empty.  She didn’t think she’d ever seen Batman’s chair unoccupied.

               Wally grunted, blinking as he tore his eyes away from some article on-screen.  ‘Bats fell asleep in his chair again.  Alfred dragged him off to sleep in a bed.’

               Starfire smiled.  ‘Alfred is fearsome indeed, to command the Batman.’

               Wally snorted.  ‘I dunno, Star.  He was practically sleepwalking.  I’m pretty sure I could’ve sent him to bed just as easy.’

               Starfire put a finger to her lips, as though considering.  ‘No,’ she said slowly.  ‘No, Alfred is far fiercer than Kid Flash.’

               Wally cackled, and stuck his tongue out.

               And there they were.

               Little black dots, as if he’d jabbed his tongue over and over with a marker pen.

               Starfire hissed, half-rising out of her seat as her heart leaped into her throat.

               Wally pulled his tongue back in, slapping a hand over his mouth.  ‘Shit!  Sorry, sorry.  I forgot.’

               Lowering into her seat, Starfire knitted her brow.  ‘Do not apologise.  It is not … I should not have reacted so …’  She bit her lip.  ‘How long?’

               ‘Since yesterday.’

               ‘Do they hurt?’

               ‘Kinda.’  Wally shrugged.  ‘But those eggheads at Star Labs will have a cure ready any day now.’  He leaned back, reaching for a plastic bag on the desk behind him.  ‘Which reminds me.’  He handed the bag over to Starfire; it was opaque, but she recognised the hard, plastic shapes inside with a sinking feeling in her stomach.  ‘The eggheads want more alpha blood.  You game?’

               Starfire sighed.  ‘Of course.  I shall have the doctor prepare the needles.’

               She got to her feet, and paused a moment to squeeze Wally’s shoulder before heading out the door.

 

* * *

 

Wally didn’t complain, but Starfire could see him getting sicker and sicker.

               She first noticed when they broke for lunch.  Instead of zipping ahead to be first in line at the cafeteria, Wally strolled alongside her.

               ‘Do you not wish to run?’ she said.

               ‘I’d rather walk with you.’  Wally shrugged.  ‘There’ll still be food left.’

               Starfire frowned, but then Wally launched into an explanation of the report he’d just drudged through, and she didn’t say anything.

               That day, Wally piled half as much on his plate as usual.

               He still didn’t finish it.

               A few days later, he didn’t get up for lunch at all.  Starfire grabbed him a plate, piling it high with everything and anything, and brought it back for him.  He grinned and thanked her—and then picked at the food for the rest of the afternoon, barely nibbling the edges.

               He grew pale, his cheeks thinning each day no matter how much food Starfire pushed in front of him.  One day, he started coughing—loud, wet, deep coughs that he smothered with the crook of his elbow—and couldn’t stop.  When his voice grew low and raspy, Alfred brought him hot lemon and honey to drink.  Wally took it with a grateful smile and sipped, but Starfire could see the bags under his eyes and the way he sagged in his chair, like he barely had the energy to hold himself up anymore.

               ‘I’m fine,’ Wally croaked.  ‘That’s cure’s coming any day now, right?’

               Starfire nodded, and went back to her screen, chewing on her nails.

               By the end of the second week, she’d bitten them down to the quick.

 

* * *

 

Then came the day Wally collapsed in the corridor.

               One moment, Starfire was walking along beside him, smiling as he talked.  And the next, Wally’s legs buckled and he hit the floor before Starfire could catch him.

               ‘Wally!’  She swept down beside him as he rolled over, groaning.

               ‘M’OK,’ he mumbled, letting Starfire wind his arm over her shoulders.  ‘I just got lightheaded.’

               Starfire scooped him up, bridal-style.  He weighed next to nothing.  ‘It is _not_ OK.  You are sick, and—’

               ‘Gonna get a cure,’ Wally mumbled.  His head dropped onto Starfire’s shoulder.

               She carried him the rest of the way.

               It happened again in their base.  Wally got up to reach for the maps, his eyes rolled back and he dropped.

               Starfire leaped out of her seat and lunged to catch him.  He thumped into her arms with a grunt, and muttered, ‘Sorry, sorry,’ as she set him back in his chair.

               Across the room, Batman turned his chair, eyes creased.  ‘You should rest.’

               ‘Speak for yourself,’ Wally muttered.  ‘You never stop working.  Star, could you put a pin in the map …’  He gestured at his screen, showing another reported omega virus outbreak in South Africa.

               Chewing her lip, Starfire nodded and reached for the maps.

               Behind her, a computer pinged as a message came through.

               ‘Another report.’  Batman opened it with a tap of his fingers.

               ‘Yay,’ Wally croaked.  Leaning back, he read over Batman’s shoulder, while Starfire ran her finger over the map on the wall, searching for the correct place to pin.  ‘How much more blood do they need?  I’m sure Star’s got a few more buckets in her.’

               Starfire groaned, rubbing the peeling plaster on crook of her elbow from the most recent donation.  She traced her fingertip over Cape Town, South Africa, and plucked a pin off the shelf.

               Wally let out a shout, leaping out of his seat.

               Starfire dropped the pin; it clattered away somewhere behind the shelves.   She whirled.  ‘What is the matter?  Has something gone wrong at Star Labs?’

               ‘Wrong?’ Wally crowed.  ‘Wrong?  Hell no!’  He swayed, grabbing the back of the chair to right himself.  ‘They’ve done it, Star!  They’ve got a cure!’

               Starfire stared for a moment, heart thudding.  Then she threw herself at Wally with a squeak.  She dragged Wally into a crushing hug, and only noticed she was floating when Wally choked,

               ‘Star—mercy—still sick here.’

               Giggling, she let him down gently.  Even after he slumped back in his chair, gasping and pressing a hand to his chest, Wally beamed.

               ‘They still aren’t sure of the long-term side-effects,’ Batman murmured, still scanning the message.  ‘It’s been effective in a lab, but ... it needs human testing.’

               ‘Well, they’ve got their first subject right here.’  Wally jabbed a thumb at his chest.  ‘Whatever the side-effects, I’m pretty sure they’re better than certain death.’

               Batman winced.  But then, finally, gradually, he smiled—small and weak and thin.  ‘I'll put your application forward.  We’d better call Alfred.  For an occasion like this, we might even get cake with our tea.’

               ‘A cure for the omega virus _and_ tea and cake with Batman.’  Wally sighed dreamily.  ‘This is the best day ever.’


	28. Chapter 28

One positive about the damn calendar on the wall: Dick no longer hit ceiling when the doorbell rang.

               Dick saw the doctor visit the instant he came down for breakfast, circled on the last day of the month in red pen.  He ground his teeth, and reached for his cereal.  At least he was warned.

               So when the buzzer went off that evening, as the sun melted away behind the trees, Dick just sighed.  Slade, lounging behind him on the sofa, pushed Dick away and got up to answer the call. Dick sagged deeper into the cushions, sprawling without Slade to take up the space.

               The security guard’s voice crackled through the speaker.  Dick ignored it, as well as Slade’s usual response—‘Let her in.’

               Instead, he focused on the fireball lighting up the TV screen.  Another riot.  Chicago, this time.  Cops ducked behind their plastic shields, lining up opposite screaming protestors.  Shaky phone camera footage showed a Molotov sailing over the heads of the crowd and bouncing off a cop’s riot shields before exploding.  People screamed and staggered back.

               Dick swept a hand over his face.  He should _be_ there.  Not a protestor; not a rioter; not a faceless cop behind a shield.  He should be there, in red and yellow and green.  A beacon.  A reminder that people could do _good_.

               How many riots had they suffered in Jump?  In Gotham?  The news never covered them all.  Were the Titans sweeping through the streets, putting out fires, lifting people to safety, snatching homemade weapons out of rioters’ hands?  Was Batman stalking the night, knocking down opportunists as they smashed windows and stole televisions?

               Dick groaned.

               He could _be there_.

               Outside, the doctor’s car rumbled up the drive.  It sounded deeper than usual.  Louder.  Like she’d exchanged her sedan for a truck.

               Sighing, Dick tilted his head back over the arm of the sofa and watched Slade open the door.  The dark-haired doctor stepped in; Slade murmured something, and Dick could _see_ his smirk even with Slade’s head tilted away.  The doctor replied, a little louder.  Loud enough for Dick to hear—

               ‘Well, bring him out then.  We can’t do it in here.’

               He straightened, stomach buzzing.  _Do what?_   He slipped off the sofa and onto the balls of his feet, crouched and ready to run.  What did they want that they couldn’t do in the house?

               ‘Dick,’ Slade called.  ‘Come here.’

               Dick didn’t move.  ‘Why?’

               Slade turned sharply, single grey eye narrowed.  He stared at Dick over the back of the sofa, gaze flicking down his body and back up—taking in Dick’s defensive stance, his wary expression.  He snorted, shaking his head.  ‘She’s not going to hurt you, Dick.’  His eye slipped down again.  ‘It’s an ultrasound.’

               Dick spluttered.  ‘Ultrasound?’

               ‘You’re ten weeks pregnant,’ Slade said.  ‘It’s about time.’

               Letting out a breath, Dick hurried to the door.  No wonder they couldn’t do it in the house.  An ultrasound.  That meant leaving the compound.  Going to a hospital.  _Outside._

               The doctor turned as he reached the door, heading back down the porch towards her car.

               Or, rather, her van.

               It looked like it was ambulance in a past life, the stickers stripped off and the finish left bare white.  Dick followed her, frowning, Slade close at his shoulder.  As they neared the van, the doctor threw the rear doors open, revealing a cot bolted to the floor, and an upright machine with wide, black screen.

               Dick sagged.  Of course.  _Of course_ they wouldn’t risk taking him from the compound.

               No, no—they’d taken the ultrasound to him.

               Clambering up into the van, he perched on the edge of the cot, watching as the doctor powered up the machine. 

               ‘He needs to lie back, shirt up.’  She glanced up at Slade.  ‘This shouldn’t take long.’

               ‘Thanks,’ Dick muttered.

               She ignored him.

               Dick swung his legs up, lay back and hiked his shirt up to his chest.  Leaned over, Slade drew Dick’s hands away with a gentle—but firm—touch.  As Dick reached up, tucking his arms behind his head, Slade rolled his shirt the rest of the way up, then unbuttoned Dick’s jeans and folded them down to below the waistband of his pants.  Dick twitched, but Slade stopped there and straightened, turning to the machine.

               The doctor snapped on a pair of blue rubber gloves.  She turned to Dick, a plastic bottle in her hand.  Dick flinched as she tipped it over, squeezing ice-cold gel onto his bare stomach.  She spread it with a few quick swipes of her hand, not so much as glancing at Dick’s face.  Setting the gel down, she reached back for the machine.

               Dick lifted his head, staring at the screen.

               The doctor plucked up a plastic scanner, linked to the machine by a looping white wire, and pressed it to his stomach.  It was cool, and Dick couldn’t help sucking his stomach in at its first touch.  The doctor scowled, and he let his breath out slowly.

               The screen flickered.

               And shapes appeared.

               Dick tilted his head.  It just looked like lumps.  Grey, fuzzy lumps on a black background, like static on the TV.  The doctor swept the scanner up and down his stomach, and the shapes wobbled around the screen, until she stopped, just under Dick’s belly button.

               And Dick’s heart stopped.

               There it was.

               _Tadpole._

               The baby looked like a grey kidney bean, floating in a circle of pure black.  The tiny, fuzzy lumps of hands and legs poked out of its body, barely the size of peas.

               Dick couldn’t breathe.  He wanted to laugh, but his eyes were watering.

               It was so tiny.

               ‘See that?’  The doctor reached out with her free hand, poking the screen near the baby’s chest.  She looked up at Slade.  ‘Steady heartbeat.’

               Dick’s eyes widened.  She was right.  There, in the middle of Tadpole’s chest, a little white pulse flickered.

               He swallowed, thinking of the riots on the news.  Of how much he’d wanted to be there.  With Batman.  With his friends.  Helping.  Fighting.

               Batman and the Titans only had to worry about themselves.  He touched the edge of his stomach, sticky gel dripping onto his fingers.  How could he swing into a riot now?  How could he fight?  How could he risk—?

               The doctor pulled the scanner off his stomach, and Tadpole disappeared.

               Dick sagged, head thumping back.  The doctor tossed paper towels on his stomach, and he hesitated before wiping the gel off.  He wanted to keep it on.  To demand she press the scanner to his stomach again.  Show him Tadpole.

               His baby.

               He sat up, scrunching the paper towels in his fist.

               ‘How’s he been?’ the doctor said.

               Dick’s stomach tightened.  He scowled.

               Slade nodded.  ‘Well enough.  Some sickness, but it’s wearing off—’

               ‘How about you ask me?’ Dick snapped.

               Slade whipped round to look at him.  The doctor turned more slowly, expression weary, as if she was dealing with a stroppy toddler.

               ‘Don’t look at me like that!’  Dick straightened, face heating.  ‘I’m supposed to be your patient and you barely speak to me.’

               The doctor’s lips thinned.  She glanced up at Slade, and Dick tensed, waiting for the sharp command for silence.

               But Slade shrugged, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder.  ‘He’s not wrong.’

               Warmth swelled in Dick’s chest.  He leaned into Slade’s hand.

               The doctor sat back.  She set down the ultrasound scanner, and snapped off one glove, then another.  ‘You’re not my patient, Grayson.’  She jabbed a finger at his stomach.  ‘That foetus is my patient.’  Her eyes were cold and hard, her jaw set.  ‘As far as I’m concerned, until that baby is born, you are nothing but a threat.’

               Dick choked.  ‘A threat?  To my own—’  He cut himself off, lifting his chin as he realised.  ‘Because I might get sick.’

               ‘You might.’  The doctor’s eyes were fixed on him now, burning like ice.  ‘Half my patients contracted the omega virus before I even met them.  A few of them contracted it after they conceived.  But they weren’t the worst.’  She got to her feet, the motion like a storm cloud rising over mountains.  ‘My worst patient was twenty weeks pregnant when she killed herself.’

               Dick went cold.

               The doctor shook her head.  ‘Twenty weeks.  I did everything— _everything—_ to comfort that woman.  I brought her whatever she asked for.  I sent her alpha away.  Let her cry on my shoulder.  I told her I’d raise the damn baby myself if she didn’t want it.  And she—’  The doctor’s lips went white, her hands curled into fists.  ‘And she’s not the only one.’

               Dick shot to his feet, shoulders squared.  ‘Maybe if you didn’t _imprison_ us—'

               ‘I _know_ this is hard!’  The muscles rippled in her jaw as she clenched her teeth.  ‘I _know_ you didn’t ask to be here.  But if we don’t repopulate, the consequences will be catastrophic.  So I don’t care about you.  I don’t care if you feel respected, or happy.  Because even if I did, you’d only disappoint me.  I just care that the baby you’re carrying gets to be born.  That’s my job, and I’m going to damn well do it.’

               Dick’s hands trembled at his sides.  He’d never wanted to swing a punch so much in his life.  Fuck this woman.  Fuck her moralising over omegas committing suicide, as if all this misery was their own fault.  Fuck her claiming ownership over Tadpole, a baby that wasn’t even _hers_.

               Slade touched his elbow.  For a moment, Dick thought Slade would draw him away.  But his fingers made only the lightest possible contact.  A reminder that he was there.  Nothing more.

               Dick glanced back, and saw the gleam in Slade’s eye.  The _pride_.

               His mouth went dry.

               Slade _wanted_ him to hit her.

               Dick let a breath out through his nose.  Slow.  Even.  Raven’s chant slipped into his mind, and he repeated it a few times, silently, in his head.  Focusing on the way she said it.  The soft, whispery croak of her voice.  The way she calmed so quickly, like the words alone were all she needed.

_Azerath, metrion, zinthos._

               He looked up at the doctor.  ‘What’s your name?’

               She wrinkled her nose.  ‘You don’t need—’

               ‘You already know mine.’  Dick tried to keep his voice even.  ‘It’s only fair.’

               The doctor shook her head.  Not in refusal, but exasperation.  She waved a hand.  ‘Sarah.  Sadie.’

               Drawing another breath, Dick chanted the words again in his head.

               He missed Raven.  Missed her calm.  Missed the way her rare black moods made his own seem so tame in comparison.

               He missed all his friends.

               But …

               ‘I’m not going to disappoint you, Sadie.’  He touched his stomach.  ‘I’m not gonna hurt my baby.  So maybe, instead of blaming me, you can help me.’

               Sadie’s eyes remained narrowed, but she stepped back, mimicking Dick’s less aggressive pose.

               ‘For a start—’ Dick swallowed, glancing back at Slade over his shoulder, ‘—the nausea isn’t really going away.  Swinging helps, but I can’t spend my entire day in the gym.’

               Sadie scrunched up her face.  ‘Swinging  … ?’  Her gaze flicked up to Slade, but then she seemed to think better of it.  She sat down, crossing her legs and folding her arms, her gaze focused on Dick.  ‘All right, Grayson, what the hell have you been doing?’


	29. Chapter 29

‘I gotta tell you Star,’ Wally groaned, bent over in the cafeteria with his head on the table, ‘I’m glad I’m gonna live and all, but these side-effects are making me want to jump out the airlock and into the Sun.’

               Starfire made a sympathetic noise, reaching across the table to pat Wally’s shoulder.  ‘You are still hurting?’

               ‘Feels like Superman took a hammer to all my bones at once.  And then took a second swing at my head.’

               Squeezing his shoulder, Starfire pushed a plastic cup of water towards him.  Wally sat up with a groan, like a corpse rising from its grave.  He downed the drink in three loud gulps, then dropped his head back on the table.

               His breathing deepened.  Starfire leaned forward, and found his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open.  Lifting her hand off Wally’s shoulder, she picked up her fork and turned back to her dinner.  She wouldn’t wake him.  Not after the last few weeks.

               Night after night of hearing him toss and turn in the cot next to hers.  Of him gasping and jolting out of bed, wheezing like he could barely breathe, clinging to his belly.

               She got up the first few nights, lifting her hand and lighting the room with the soft glow of a starbolt.  Batman’s cot was usually empty at the far end of the room; Alfred slept in the bed next to Wally’s.

               ‘Wally?’ Starfire whispered.  ‘Shall I call the doctor?’

               But he shook his head every time.  ‘I’m fine.’

               The doctor said it was cramps, and prescribed Wally painkillers that knocked him out flat every evening.

               Not that the sleep seemed to do him any good.

               He staggered around the corridors, bleary-eyed and grey-faced.  He sat with Starfire, Batman and Alfred all day, staring at a screen apparently without comprehension, his eyes glazed over and drooping.  Every few hours, he fell asleep in his chair, and woke up twenty minutes later with a jerk and a guilty sideways glance at the others.

               ‘Sleep all you need,’ Starfire murmured, catching his eye on the second day.  ‘To become well again, you must rest.’

               Wally gave her a thumbs-up.  ‘Just a power nap.’

               Next time Wally fell asleep in his chair, Batman got up, quiet as a shadow, scooped Wally up, and carried him to bed.

               Wally staggered back to their closet of a base a few hours later, frowning.  ‘Did … did Batman tuck me into bed?’

               Batman smirked, and said nothing.

               Three weeks into his treatment, Starfire was used to Wally’s sudden naps.  So she finished her dinner as he snored opposite her; got up and cleared her tray; nibbled through a cookie for dessert with a cup of milky tea—Alfred had got her addicted—and didn’t notice the doctor coming until he loomed over Wally’s shoulder.

               He had dark skin and a halo of corkscrew curls—one of the new doctors who’d volunteered since the omega virus outbreak on the Satellite.  He pointed down at Wally and mouthed, ‘Wallace West?’

               ‘Wally,’ Starfire whispered back.  ‘Yes.’

               The doctor smiled apologetically.  ‘I’m afraid we need to wake him up.’

               Starfire bit her lip, but she leaned across the table, took Wally’s shoulder and shook him gently.  ‘Wally?  You must wake up.’

               He snorted, rolled his head, and hauled himself up.  ‘Star?  Wha … ?’  He followed Starfire’s line of sight up and over his shoulder, rubbed his eyes, and blinked up at the doctor.  ‘Oh.  Hey, doc.  ‘Sup?’

               ‘You missed your check-up,’ the doctor said softly.  ‘It was fifteen minutes ago.’

               Wally sagged.  ‘Aw, man, I’m sorry, I just—’

               ‘It’s OK,’ the doctor said.  ‘I’ve got a minute to see you now, if … ?’

               ‘Yeah.’  Wally shot to his feet, swayed, and grabbed the back of his chair.  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m good.  Let’s go.’  He glanced back.  ‘You coming, Star?’

               Starfire rose to her feet.  ‘If you would like me to.’

               ‘Hell yeah.’  Wally linked arms with her as she came round the table.  ‘Need my moral support.’  He hesitated as they began to walk after the doctor.  ‘Also I’m pretty sure I’m gonna pass out and you’re crazy strong.  You can catch me.’

               He didn’t pass out, but he did wobble a few times on the way to the doctor’s office.  There, Starfire lowered him into a chair before sitting down herself.

               ‘We’ve had your latest test results.’  The doctor switched his computer on with a tap of the keyboard; Wally’s information was already open on the screen.  ‘I’m happy to say it’s good news.  Your immune system’s adapted just as we hoped.  So, today I’m going to recommend we finish your treatment.’  He smiled.  ‘You’re all done, Wally.’

               Wally stared.  ‘You mean I’m … cured?’

               The doctor tilted his head.  ‘Well, the virus is still in your body.  It’s just not doing any more harm.  Just like it wouldn’t harm an alpha or a beta.  You could still infect another omega and do serious harm.’  He shrugged.  ‘But yes, for all intents and purposes—you’re cured.’

               ‘YES!’  Wally leaped out his seat with a whoop.  He grabbed Starfire’s hand, and yanked her into a crushing hug.  She laughed, tightening her own grip around his ribs until he choked.  Wally let her go, wheezing.  ‘OK, lesson learned.  Never try to out-hug a Tamaranean.’  He pressed a hand to his ribs.  ‘ _Damn_.’

               Starfire cackled, and punched his shoulder—although lightly.  She didn’t want to break Wally’s arm now he was finally better.

               ‘So I can come off my meds?’ Wally said.  ‘Yes!’  He punched the air, then slumped back in his chair.  ‘Because those side-effects were killer.  I mean, not as killer as actually dying of the omega virus, but still.  Dude.  _Ouch_.’

               The doctor winced.  ‘Yes, we’ve noted quite a ream of side-effects.  The guys at Star Labs are working to combat them, but for now … as you said, for most people, they’re not as devastating as the virus itself.’

               ‘For most people?’  Wally snorted.  ‘Who’d take death by virus over aches and pains?’

               Starfire fought not to laugh again.  Just a few minutes ago, Wally wanted to throw himself into the Sun.  Now, buoyed up on good news, he considered his last few weeks of misery just ‘aches and pains’?

               The doctor’s smile faltered.  He knitted his hands together in his lap.  ‘There have been … effects in certain omegas.  Loss of fertility, for one.  Omegas due to go into heat haven’t done so during the treatment.  It’s too soon to know if that’s permanent.  And then there are the miscarriages.’

               Starfire grew still.  Beside her, Wally straightened, his spine rigid as an iron bar.  He whispered a curse.

               ‘Is this common?’ Starfire said softly.

               ‘Common enough to be a pattern.’  The doctor sighed.  ‘It’s made legislating the treatment difficult.  How can we recommend a treatment to pregnant omegas that might mean they lose their babies?  Or even a treatment that could make people infertile?’

               ‘But if they die of the virus …’ Starfire whispered.

               The doctor shrugged.  ‘It’s difficult.’  He set his hands on his knees.  ‘And it’s not for you to worry about right now.  Let the politicians work on that.  You go and celebrate.’

               Starfire swallowed, and nodded.  She turned to Wally, whose smile came slower—but glowed just as bright.

               ‘You’re right, doc.  Thanks.  You’re a lifesaver.’  Wally stood up.  ‘Literally.’

               They headed back to the base, Wally’s smile never fading even as he wobbled and stumbled, his eyelids drooping.  When Starfire looped her arm in his, he didn’t complain.

               ‘Man, I can’t wait for these side-effects to wear off,’ he muttered.  ‘D’you think Alfred will bring us cake again?  I mean, surely a working cure deserves cake—’

               Starfire’s communicator cut him off with a shrill ring.

               She tugged it off her belt with her free hand and flipped it open.  The Titans crowded together on the tiny screen, looking up at her.

               ‘Friends!’ Starfire grinned.  ‘We have most excellent news.  Wally is well again!’

               She turned the communicator, letting Wally’s face fill the camera.  He threw up a peace sign.

               ‘That’s … that’s great, Star.’  Through the communicator, Cyborg’s voice was small and tinny.

               Starfire turned the communicator back to her.  And now she saw the tense looks on all their faces.  Beast Boy curled up small on the end of the sofa.  Raven sitting stiffly, hands clenched in her lap.  Cyborg’s knee bobbing, restless, like he could barely stand to sit still.

               Starfire swallowed.  ‘Is something wrong?’

               ‘We also have news,’ Raven croaked.

               ‘A cop in Idaho picked up a message on his cruiser radio.  He’s not sure exactly where it came from, but …’  The human side of Cyborg’s face tensed, lines creasing around his eye.  ‘It’s Robin.’

               Starfire couldn’t move.

               Robin.

               _Robin._

               He heart leaped into her throat, and she couldn’t breathe.  Her fingers numbed around the communicator, and she only realised she was standing there staring when Wally leaned in, squeezing her arm.

               ‘Send it over, guys.’

               Cyborg nodded, leaned forward, and tapped a keyboard off-camera.  The audio file pinged in, and Wally hit the play button, because Starfire still couldn’t move.

               _Robin._

               A burst of static hissed from the communicator, like rustling paper.  Then, beneath the hush of static, a voice came through.  Quiet at first, but gradually growing louder.  Clearer.

_‘Help me—it’s Dick Grayson—it’s Robin—can anyone hear me—help,_ _please help_ _—’_

               A thump, and cry— _Robin’s_ cry, as though someone had hit him without warning—and the audio file cut off.

               Starfire’s lungs burned.  She gasped, and staggered sideways, hand going out to the wall for balance.

               Robin’s voice.

               That was the first time she’d heard Robin’s voice in …

               And he was begging for help.

               ‘Thank you, friends.’  Her voice came out small and dry.  ‘I will … I will speak with Batman.’  She took a deep breath, straightening her back.  ‘And we shall find Robin.  Help is coming.’

               ‘Damn right it is,’ Cyborg said softly.

               Starfire closed the communicator with a snap.


	30. Chapter 30

The screech cut through Dick’s sleep.

               He jerked in bed, kicking off the blankets and lurching to his feet—

               —or, at least, lurching an inch off the mattress before Slade’s arm tightened around him.  Dick choked, digging his fingers into Slade’s forearm.  Slade loosened his grip, and next thing Dick felt cool air against his back and heard shifting fabric as Slade sat up behind him.

               Another screech.

               Or—no—not a screech.  A _ring_.

               Dick sagged.   ‘I hate that doorbell.’

               Slade didn’t answer.  Didn’t even _move_.

               Dick’s stomach tightened.

               _Wait._

               He sat up.

               Why would someone ring on the doorbell— _now_?

               That buzzer only ever went off when the doctor arrived, or when groceries were delivered.  Dick glanced at the curtained windows.  It was black as sin outside, without even a sliver of moonlight.  Who the hell was here in the middle of the night?

               ‘Who is it?’ he whispered.

               ‘Stay here.’  Slade touched his arm.  ‘Wait until I come back for you.’

               Which was as good of an _I don’t know_ as Dick was going to get.

               Slade got up, bare feet silent on the floor, and stooped to tug on the previous day’s sweatpants before slipping out the door.  Dick waited, breathing slowly, listening for each impossibly soft footstep on the stairs.  He waited until Slade reached the ground floor.

               Then he slid out of bed and padded out after him.

               He crept across the upstairs landing, put a hand on the banister and leaned over.  Slade’s voice carried up, low and serious, the words were too soft to make out.  Just notes rising and falling, like the melody of a faraway song.

               Dick’s throat tightened.  What was it?  A perimeter breach?

               _Men in suits and a hand in his hair and his chest so tight, so tight he couldn’t breathe as he was dragged backwards through the parking lot—_

               He shuddered.  No.  Not Falcone’s men.  He touched his stomach, imagining Tadpole could feel the flutter of butterflies in his belly.  _Please, no._

               He took a deep breath.  There were armed guards at the fence.  Patrolling.  Watching.

               For the first time, they didn’t feel like prison guards.

               For the first time, that fence didn’t feel like iron bars.

               It felt like a fortress.

               A voice crackled over the intercom, sharp and metallic.  Slade replied, low and soft as before, and then the intercom snapped off.  The house fell silent.

               Dick waited, breathing slowly.  Outside, the wind hushed through the trees.  The air felt close and static, as if any moment the sky might break into a thunderstorm.

               Footsteps on the stairs.  Dick straightened.

               He could only just make out Slade’s dark figure on the stairs.  He waited until Slade reached the landing, then whispered, ‘Slade?’

               Slade’s arm shot out, his fingers curling around Dick’s elbow.  ‘I told you to wait in bed.’

               Dick’s chest tightened.  ‘What is it?  A break-in?’

               He couldn’t make out Slade’s face, but he got the impression Slade was staring down at him in the dark.  Slade exhaled, long and heavy.

               ‘There’s a cure.’

               Dick frowned, the words sinking in like stones in thick mud.

               A … cure?

               A cure.

               _A cure._

               He realised he wasn’t breathing, and gasped.  The floor swayed under him; he staggered, grabbing Slade’s arm.  A cure for the omega virus.  They’d done it.  He wasn’t—he wasn’t in danger.  He wasn’t going to die.  Even if he caught the virus, he could take the cure and he’d be fine, and—

               He staggered away from Slade, back thudding against the wall.

               ‘You can’t keep me here.’

               Slade’s growl reverberated in the dark, seeming to come from all directions at once.  ‘You're not going anywhere.  If you leave, you’ll get sick.’

               Dick fought the urge to shrink into the wall.  He straightened his back.  Curled his fists.  ‘Who cares if I get sick?  There’s a _cure_.’

               Slade lunged.  Dick darted aside, but too slow—Slade’s hands curled around his upper arms.  He dragged Dick back, and slammed him into the wall, hard enough to rattle Dick’s teeth.

               ‘ _I care!_ ’

               His voice was a snarl, low and animal.  It went down Dick’s spine like the sound of breaking boulders; like splintering bone.  Dick ground his teeth, tucking his chin although every instinct _screamed_ for him to bare his throat.  To submit.

               And then—

               ‘You—’  Dick choked.  ‘ _What?_ ’

               Slade’s grip loosened on his arms.  His hands slid down, and finally lifted away.  The shadow of his shoulders lifted, as though he were straightening his back.  As though he were regaining his composure.

               Dick swallowed.

               Since when did Slade lose his composure?

               All those bites.  Every time Slade hit him.  Every time Slade hurt him— _raped him_ —Slade never once _lost control_.  He got angry.  He got cruel.  But he never—never—

               ‘The cure—’  Slade stopped.  There was a soft, wet sound as he swallowed.  And then, outside, the quiet rumble of an engine.  Slade sighed.  ‘The doctor’s coming.  Get dressed.’

               He flicked on the light, and Dick hissed as the yellow glare cut through his vision.

               Stumbling back into the bedroom, Dick dragged on the first clothes his hands touched.  By the time he came downstairs, Sadie sat on the sofa, Slade standing over her with the quiet presence of a looming mountain.

               Sadie glanced up at Slade.  ‘You told him?’

               Slade nodded, and before Dick could feel a prickle of irritation at her for ignoring him, Sadie turned and looked at him.  ‘Sit down, Dick.’

               He narrowed his eyes, and sat.

               Sadie ran her hands over her face.  She looked grey, like the life had drained out of her.  The clock on the wall said it was 5:08AM.

               ‘It’ll be all over the news tomorrow,’ Sadie said finally.  ‘The reason we haven’t been able to keep the virus at bay.’  Her eyes flicked up to Slade.  ‘ _We_ carry it.  Alphas and betas, I mean.  It doesn’t hurt us, but …’

               Dick flinched, automatically shifting an inch away from her.

               She turned, giving him a thin-lipped smile.  ‘I tested myself before I came over.  I’m clean.’  She glanced at Slade.  ‘I want to test you, though.’

               Slade’s jaw rippled, as though he were grinding his teeth.  He nodded.  ‘And my staff.  Every one of them.  The guards.  The delivery men.  _Tonight._ ’  He drew a long breath.  ‘None of them are allowed near this house until we know they’re safe.’

               A moment’s hesitation, then Sadie nodded.

               ‘Why does it matter?’  Dick flinched as they each snapped round to look at him.  ‘There’s a cure.  Even if I get sick …’

               Sadie’s face hardened.  She looked over her shoulder at Slade.  ‘You didn’t … ?’  At an infinitesimal shake of the head from Slade, she cleared her throat.  Straightened her back.  Turned back to Dick.  ‘The cure has side-effects, Dick.  Serious side-effects.’  She hesitated a beat, not as though she didn’t want to say it, but as though giving him a moment to steel himself.  ‘Miscarriage.’

               Dick didn’t realise he was on his feet until he’d backed halfway across the room.

               He pressed a hand to his belly.  Tadpole.  Little Tadpole, that grey blur on the ultrasound screen.  The grey blur with tiny arms and legs.  The pregnancy book said Tadpole would have a face by now.  A tiny nose.  Fat little cheeks.

               ‘We can’t—’ he hissed.  ‘I can’t—I _won’t_ —’

               ‘It’s a cure, not a vaccine,’ Sadie said levelly.  ‘You don’t have the virus.  You don’t need to worry.’

               ‘But I could get sick,’ Dick whispered.  ‘I could—’  He looked up at Slade, who stared back, his one grey eye blazing.  ‘Slade—’

               Slade tensed, his jaw rippling again.

               ‘The plan is the same as ever,’ Sadie said.  ‘You’ll stay here, where it’s safe.  You’ll have no contact with anyone who could be infected.’

               Dick found himself nodding automatically, his hand still pressing on his stomach.  _It’s OK,_ he thought, as thought Tadpole could hear him.  _It’s OK, we’re safe here.  We’re safe behind the fence._

               He waited, numb, as Sadie drew blood from Slade and tested it.  His heart thudded in his throat for the agonising two minutes it took for the drop of blood to dissolve in the phial of clear liquid.  For the liquid to turn blue.

               ‘You’re clean.’  Sadie packed the phial in her bag.  ‘I’ll test your staff.’  She looked between Slade and Dick, nodded once, and whisked out the house.

               Slade remained rigid, staring at the door until long after the sound of her car engine faded away.

               ‘Slade?’ Dick whispered.

               And before he could blink, Slade crossed the room and pulled him into a crushing hug.  Dick pressed his face into Slade’s bare chest and drew long, deep breaths, letting that alpha scent wash away the nervous jitters.

               ‘You’re not going anywhere.’  Slade’s chest rumbled against Dick’s cheek.

               And this time, it didn’t sound like a threat.

               Dick closed his eyes, drawing another breath.  ‘No.’  His voice was thin and dry as paper.  He squeezed his hand, digging his fingers into his stomach.  Holding Tadpole.  ‘No, we’re not.’


	31. Chapter 31

Earth felt so _heavy_.

               Starfire leaned forward, peering out the window as Batman’s craft swept over the Northern Pacific.  After the lighter gravity on the Satellite, Earth seemed to drag her down, weighing on her bones like lead.  The sea glimmered below them, emerald-green.  She craned her neck up, searching for the wispy clouds she’d seen floating over the planet’s surface from the Satellite.  The sky was clear.

               Wally leaned forward, poking his head in beside Starfire’s.  ‘Feels good to see blue skies again, huh?’

               Starfire smiled back at him.  ‘I have missed them.’

               Probably not as much as Wally.  Starfire was used to space; used to spending weeks and months travelling through a void dusted with stars.  And before that, she was used to the skies on Tamaran: butterscotch in summer, purple-black in winter.

               Batman grunted, as though blue skies were nothing more than a nuisance.

               Robin once told Starfire that Gotham was always dark.  Grey and rainy and gloomy in the dark, and smoky black at night.  It probably made hiding in the shadows a whole lot easier than blazing blue skies and sunshine.

               ‘Look at that,’ Wally breathed, and Starfire turned, following his gaze out the other side of the jet.

               Jump City loomed on the horizon.  Cream and grey skyscrapers stabbed up into the air; Jump’s suspension bridge shone in the midday sun.  And here, at last, were the clouds: puffs of white cotton floating over the buildings.

               And out in the middle of the sea …

               Titan’s Tower.

               _Home._

               Starfire’s heart swelled.  The comfy couch in the living room, the cushions stuffed with crumbs and pennies and lost detritus.  Her huge round bed, where she could stretch her arms and legs and sleep _normally_ , with her head hanging over the mattress.  The sound of her friends laughing and bickering; Beast Boy surreptitiously sliding tofu onto Cyborg’s plate; the smell of nail polish as Starfire painted a sceptical-looking Raven’s toes.  It all hit her like the smell of fresh-baked _gorska_ bread, warm and welcoming and _home_.

               Batman landed their craft directly on top of the Tower.  Starfire bounced in her chair, tugging at her seatbelt until, finally, the roar of the jet’s engines dulled to a hum, and then silence.

               Across the roof, a door opened.  Beast Boy’s green face peeked out.

               Batman opened the roof of the jet—before Starfire burst clean through it.

               She shot into the air like an arrow and barrelled at her friends, just as they stepped out onto the rooftop.  Beast Boy squawked, and then Starfire had her arms around all three of them, dragging them into a crushing hug.

               ‘My friends!  I am so glad to see you again!’

               Raven and Beast Boy wheezed.  Cyborg, whose lungs Starfire physically couldn’t crush on account of him not _having_ lungs, reached around the other two to hug her back.

               ‘Good to see you, too, Star.’

               Starfire released them, beaming for what felt like the first time in years.  Her vision clouded, and she swiped a tear from the corner of her eye.  Beast Boy gasped for air, one hand pressed to his chest.

               A rush of wind whipped her hair over her face.

               Wally spoke, suddenly just over Starfire’s shoulder.  ‘She’s got a good arm on her, right?’

               Starfire spluttered, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

               ‘Yo, Kid Flash, how’s it going!’  Cyborg reached over and punched Wally’s shoulder.  ‘Heard you’re all recovered.’

               Wally staggered, and then grinned.  ‘Yep!  As if some virus was gonna stop me.’  He gave Cyborg a punch of his own.  His knuckles crunched against Cyborg’s arm and he yelped.

               ‘The Titans East sent some of your spare uniforms over.’  Raven tilted her head.  ‘They’re on the kitchen table—’

               Wally stopped shaking his hand out long enough to look up, and grin.

               Wind blasted past them, throwing Starfire’s hair right back into her face.  Starfire groaned, and this time held it ponytailed over her shoulder in one fist until Wally returned.  Which took approximately two and a half seconds.

               A yellow blur whipped out the door and stopped dead in front of her.  Wally grinned, back in his mask, rolling his shoulders and rocking his head from side-to-side.  Kid Flash once again.

               ‘Man, it feels good to be back in the game.’  He bounced on his toes.  ‘I wanna stop some crimes.  I wanna fight some bad guys.’

               A shadow fell over Starfire’s back.  She turned, and had to crane her neck to look Batman in the face.

               ‘In which case,’ Batman said, so low it was almost a growl, ‘we should get moving.’

               The smile dropped off Starfire’s face.  Her stomach tightened like a scrunched-up piece of paper.

               Because of course.  Titan’s Tower wasn’t home.  Not really.

               Not as long as Robin wasn’t here.

               She swallowed.  ‘Cyborg, how fast may we prepare the T Jet?’

               ‘We’re ready to fly.’  Cyborg didn’t look at her.  His eyes—human and mechanical—were fixed on Batman.  ‘We’re ready to get Robin back.’

               Batman nodded.  ‘Do you have the packs I asked for?’

               Starfire narrowed her eyes.  Packs?  What packs?

               But—

               ‘In the jet,’ Cyborg said.  ‘Do you really think … ?’

               But he trailed off.  Batman stared, unfathomable, and ignored Starfire’s quizzical stare.  His gaze flicked between them; the happy faces now subdued.  Serious.

               Ready.

               What state would they find Robin in?

               Weeks.  _Months_.  Trapped with Slade.  The panic in his voice on that recording.  Shouting, _pleading_ for help.  Starfire’s throat tightened.  The way he gripped his chest in that security tape.  The way he clung to Slade like he couldn’t help it.

               _Mated._

It hurt, like one of the doctor’s needles stabbing into her chest.

               Thinking about it hadn’t got any easier.  And if it hurt for _her_ …

               _We’re coming, Robin._   She closed her hands into fists.  _We’re on our way._


	32. Chapter 32

This was impossible.

               Starfire stared out the window of the T-Jet, mouth hanging open.  Trees carpeted the hills and ravines, climbing halfway up the mountains, stretching all the way to the distant horizon.  Miles below, the grey snaking line of a lonely road cut through the wilderness, cars crawling along it like tiny glittering beetles.

               ‘Robin’s somewhere down there?’

               The headphones over her ears crackled, and then Batman’s voice came through.  ‘The police officer who sent us Robin’s message received the signal a few miles north on this road.’

               ‘What the heck.’  Beast Boy’s voice was barely more than a hiss of static as he sighed down the comms link.  ‘We could be here for months and we’d never find Robin.  That is … if …’

               He trailed off, but Starfire’s chest tightened as though he’d finished the sentence anyway.

               _That is, if Robin’s even still here._

               ‘We will find him,’ she said sternly.

               Kid Flash, currently in Robin’s seat in the T Jet, flashed her a thumbs-up through the glass screen.  ‘Yeah we will.  I can run through the woods.  You guys can scan overhead.  Raven can search the place with her magic.  We got this.’

               His confidence made it just a little easier for Starfire to breathe.  She lifted her chin.  ‘We must—’

               A burst of static exploded in her headset.  Starfire shrieked, reaching up to yank the headphones off, but before she could—

               _‘Unknown aircraft one and two, you are entering a no-fly zone.  Please identify.’_

               Starfire hissed.  Someone had cut in on their signal.  But who—

               ‘This is Batman and the Teen Titans,’ Batman responded, clipped and professional, as though he casually swung over restricted airspace every day.  ‘The two aircraft are the Bat Jet and the T-Jet.  We’re cleared to fly as necessary, code one-oh-one-three.’

               A moment’s pause.  Then—

               _‘Reading your code, please maintain course and await response.’_

               Starfire looked over her shoulder at Cyborg.  His human eye was wide.  He shot her a glance, and shook his head helplessly.

               The voice came back on the line.  _‘Sorry Batman, you are not cleared for this airspace.’_

               A low roar filled the air behind them.  Starfire turned, just as a grey fighter jet streaked past.  The T-Jet shuddered, and dipped right as Cyborg swerved out of the fighter jet’s way, yelping over the radio.

               _‘Alter course immediately.  Turn northwest and follow us to a suitable landing site.’_

               A beat of silence.

               ‘Batman?’  Starfire couldn’t raise her voice above a whisper.

               _‘Batman, Teen Titans, turn northwest immediately or you will be fired upon.’_

               A second jet screamed past on their right, its wing inches from clipping Raven’s pod.  Raven snarled, and through the glass Starfire saw her recoil.

               A crackle of static—Batman’s sigh.  ‘Follow their orders.  Turn northwest.’

               Up ahead, his sleek black jet banked left.  Cyborg tilted the controls and followed.

               Starfire took a breath.  And then another.

               She peeled the headphones off her head.

               So much for scanning the skies.

               Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe around her heart, throbbing in her throat.  They’d find Robin some other way.  Even if it took months, like Beast Boy said.  They’d find him.

               They had to.

 

* * *

 

They landed at an airbase; a cluster of concrete buildings surrounding by chain link fences, miles from the road through the woods where that cop picked up Robin’s voice on the radio.

               The Bat Jet’s engines were barely off before Batman was out and stalking across the tarmac, cape swirling behind him.  Starfire hurried out the T-Jet after him, flying out to hover at his shoulder.  Wally zipped up to meet her an instant later, but the other Titans held back—intimidated by the setting, or possibly the rage radiating off Batman like nuclear fallout.

               Batman reached one of the landed fighter jets just as the pilot lifted his hood, tugged off his helmet, and jumped down to meet them.

               ‘Why did you pull us away?’ Batman growled.  ‘Code one-oh-one-three—’

               ‘It doesn’t cover this area.’  The pilot winced, tucking his helmet under his arm.  ‘Listen, I’ve got nothing against you, Batman.  My kid’s a huge fan.  But no one can fly over that area right now.  It’s a total quarantine zone.’

               Starfire dropped to the floor.  ‘Quarantine?  For the omega virus?’

               The pilot shook his head.  ‘It’s classified information.  I don’t know for sure what goes on in there, and if I did I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you.’

               ‘We are searching for Robin,’ Starfire pressed.

               The pilot winced again; clearly, he knew Robin.  If his kid was a fan of Batman, he _definitely_ knew Robin.

               Starfire surged forward, heart swelling in her chest.  ‘Surely you cannot mean to stop us.  He is our _friend_ and he is in danger.  He was sighted in Idaho.  There was a distress signal near here—’

               She reached for the pilot’s hand, but Batman put his arm out to stop her.  His face was like storm clouds just before thunder.  Starfire swallowed.  Her voice had grown loud.  High pitched.  Her fingertips itched, and she realised starbolts had flared around her palms.  She flicked them out, taking a shaky breath.

               ‘ _Please._ ’

               It was barely a whisper.

               ‘We’d appreciate any help you can offer.’  Batman didn’t sound angry, like Starfire expected.  Just tired.

               Because it wasn’t this man’s fault.  Like he said, he didn’t _know_.  He was doing his job.  Doing the right thing, as far as he knew.  Protecting a quarantine zone.

               The pilot sighed.  ‘You get the code for the no-fly zone and I’ll let you in.  Until then, I’m sorry.  I can’t help you.’

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, Starfire straightened her back and stared into the woods.

               Behind her, the Bat Jet and the T-Jet nestled between the trees like giant, gleaming predators.  It took hours just for Batman to find someplace they could land.  Somewhere they’d be concealed.

               She hoisted a backpack higher up on her shoulders—stuffed with supplies.  Tarpaulin; a tightly-rolled sleeping bag; a water purifier and enough packet food to last two lifetimes.

               Somewhere in the trees, the boys were changing out of their uniforms and into the kit in their own packs.  The packs Batman had told Cyborg to prepare.  Packs of hiking gear: solid boots and warm fleeces and waterproof jackets.  Insect repellent.  Toothpaste capsules.

               And packets of tiny white pills.

               The cure.

               _He expected this._

               No wonder Batman seemed so resigned when the fighter jets appeared.  He knew they were coming.  Or at least, he suspected.

               He knew they’d have to find Robin this way.

               Starfire watched Batman reach up and run a hand through his hair, ruffling it self-consciously.  He looked naked with the cowl.  Without the cape sweeping behind him.  It would only get tangled on the branches and undergrowth in the woods.

               ‘Ready for a long walk?’  Raven floated up beside Starfire, picking at the tan t-shirt from her pack distastefully.

               Starfire lifted her chin.  ‘Of course.’

               Raven smiled, thin and weary, but warm.

               A moment later, the boys emerged from the trees.

               Wally groaned, tugging the zip of his backpack open and closed and open and closed so fast the metal began to smoke.  ‘I only just got my uniform back …’

               Batman shot him a glare that was no less fierce for the lack of a cowl.  ‘The faster we move, the sooner you can get back in your uniform.’

               Wally grinned.  ‘I’m pretty good at moving fast.’

               Batman rolled his eyes, grey and grim, and Starfire pretended not see Batman’s cheek twitch as he restrained a smile.

               Raven stepped forward.  ‘I can search the woods before we set off.  I might be able to find Robin.’

               Batman nodded.  ‘Do it.  Try to be subtle.’

               ‘I’ll keep it below the treeline.’  Raven stepped back, closing her eyes.  She drew a deep breath, lips moving silently in her usual chant.  _Azerath.  Metrion.  Zinthos._

               A pulse of darkness, like a bubble of black ink, spread from her chest.  Starfire shivered as it flooded over her, bone-cold.  Then she turned, and watched the wall of black rush through the trees, flooding over bushes and branches and leaving them untouched, their leaves trembling as if they’d also felt the snap of cold.

               Raven’s magic disappeared Into the distance.  Still, she waited, her brow furrowed, her mouth scrunched in a tight little frown.  Finally, Raven sighed, her shoulders slumped, and she opened her eyes.

               Beast Boy’s pointed ears perked up.  ‘Did you find anyone?’

               ‘Yes.’  Raven lifted an eyebrow, glancing between them.  ‘Lots of people.’

               Batman nodded.  ‘Armed guards?’

               Wally snorted.  ‘We can take ’em.’

               ‘No.’  Raven tilted her head.  ‘I mean, yes, there are people out there who feel like guards.  They’re walking in circles, patrolling.  But I mean—they’re patrolling _lots_ of places.  Lots of houses, all spread through the woods.  All with two people in the house, and guards outside.  I counted five before they got too far away to read anymore.’  She took a long, shaky breath.  ‘This isn’t just Slade kidnapping Robin.  This is _organised_.  There could be dozens of places.  Dozens of omegas ...’

               Starfire’s chest tightened.  Her heart plummeted.  Organised?  What—what did that _mean_?  All these omegas, quarantined and guarded?  All hidden in the woods, where no one could drive past, and no one could fly overhead.  Where no one _knew_ …

               ‘Where’s the closest?’  Batman’s voice was level, although his eyes blazed.

               Raven lifted a hand and pointed.  ‘That way.’

               ‘Then we start there.’

               Batman swept past Starfire and led them out into the woods.

               Starfire lifted her chin, gave Raven an encouraging half-smile, and  marched after him.


	33. Chapter 33

Dick’s nesting was getting worse, and he didn’t have the energy to fight it.

               _At least I don’t feel sick anymore,_ he thought wearily, arranging and rearranging the cushions on the sofa.  The tablets Sadie prescribed had settled his stomach instantly, provided he remembered to take them.  The days he forgot, Tadpole took revenge tenfold.  He’d spent two mornings swinging in the gym, waiting for the tablets to kick in, trying not to throw them straight back up again.

               Unfortunately, there wasn’t any medication for the compulsive need to build a safe, soft, comfortable cocoon in every corner of the house.

               ‘We need more pillows,’ Dick said, as Slade came up from the gym with a towel over his shoulders and a bottle of water in his hand.

               Slade rolled his eye.  ‘We have plenty.’

               But with the next week’s groceries, Dick found a crate of vacuum-packed pillows, along with more blankets, quilts and duvets than anyone could ever realistically need.

               He used all of them.

               One end of the sofa became a sort of permanent blanket fort, swallowed up in a duvet which he swirled into a cone, supported by cushions on either side.  Dick curled up inside it when Slade wasn’t around, knees tucked into his chest, like a bee wiggling into a flower.  The bed transformed into a mountain of pillows and blankets, which Dick rearranged every morning after Slade tore his way through them to hold him in the night.  Even the gym had a corner dedicated to Dick’s hormonal obsession; a crash mat heaped with cushions and blankets, curled up into a perfect nest.

               _It’s normal,_ Dick told himself, punching yet another pillow until it was fluffy enough to add to the pile.  _The gym is my favourite room in the house.  Of course I want to nest here._

               He didn’t have an excuse for the nest by the lake.

               One second, he was happily swimming laps.  Then he rolled over on his back, floating past curled up husks of leaves and humming insects that skimmed over the surface of the water.  He looked down the length of his body at Slade, across the lake.  And he saw it.

               The bump.

               It was tiny.  Just barely a bulge under his belly button.  But it was _there_.  Dick pressed his fingertips into it.  His skin gave, but beneath it his belly felt hard.  Tadpole’s fortress.

               He wasn’t sure when he crawled out the water.  He only knew that, next thing, he was on the shore, padding to the back of the lake, where the ground was sheltered by the trees.  Not too much sun, or wind.

               Dick got to work.

               He ripped branches down from the fir trees.  Laid them out across the ground, stamping them down to make a soft, spiny carpet.  Water or sweat dripping down his back, he hunted for logs to make a crude teepee, the way he used to when he small, playing in the woods with his dad between performances.  His dad used to lift the heavier logs for him back then.  Showed him how to lash branches together with vines, and to spot poison ivy, and to never eat berries or mushrooms he found in the wild.

               He heard the swish of Slade slipping out the water, but he didn’t look up even as Slade’s footsteps thudded over the ground, growing closer.  He needed to keep working.  Needed to finish the nest.

               ‘Dick, what are you—?’

               Slade went quiet.

               Dick patted a fir branch into place, weaving the spiky branches into the walls of his new teepee.

               Slade sighed.  ‘Dick ...’

               ‘Mm.’  Dick reached for another branch at his feet, soft with downy green spines.

               Slade’s hands landed on his shoulders, soft but heavy.  Slade squeezed, and Dick finally fell still.

               ‘Put that down.’

               Dick dropped the branch.  The spiky leaves brushed his ankles as it hit the ground and bounced.

               Slade brushed his nose against the back of Dick’s ear, his beard scratching Dick’s jaw.  Slade kissed the nape of his neck, and then lower, mouth lingering on the bite scars.  Alpha scent flooded Dick’s air, and he shivered.

               ‘You’re not going to have the baby right this second, next to the lake,’ Slade murmured.  ‘Calm down.’

               Dick drew a breath, long and deep.  It’d been days since Slade’s alpha scent made his head spin.  Since he used it as a weapon.

               Since Slade pinned him down, and fucked him.

               He leaned back, into the warmth of Slade’s chest.  Slade’s hand slipped down from Dick’s arm over his stomach, his fingertips sliding into the waist band of Dick’s still-damp swimming trunks.  Dick exhaled, shaky.

               And then the shadow, ink-black and cold as winter wind, flooded over their heads.

               It didn’t touch them.  Didn’t seem able to pass through the chain link fence.  But it flitted by overhead, swallowing the blue sky and the brightness of the sun.  Dick gasped, chest aching like he’d taken a punch to the solar plexus.  He was choking.  Drowning—

               _He knew that magic._

               He knew what it looked like.  What it _felt_ like.  He’d been wrapped up in that magic before, carried across Jump City.  He’d watched villains tumble into it and fall out wide-eyed and gibbering.

               ‘Raven!’

               Warmth burst through his chest.  Raven.  Raven was _here_.

               Raven, with her thin smiles, and her soft voice, and her mellow beta scent buried under layers of smoky incense.

               Slade snarled, loud and animal; a sound that vibrated in Dick’s chest.  He stepped away from Dick, turning to watch the darkness slip away into the distance, pooling over the trees like liquid metal.  The warmth of the sun swept back over them.  The forest brightened, the colours suddenly too loud, too garish.  Slade stared into the forest, teeth bared, hands curled into claws.

               The warmth in Dick’s chest shrivelled.

               Raven was here.

               His friends were here.

               Tadpole.

               _They didn’t know._

               ‘Slade.’  He touched Slade’s arm, and flinched when Slade whirled on him.  He stepped back, hand on his stomach.  ‘Slade, we have to go.  My friends—they don’t know—the virus—the _cure—_ ’

               Slade lunged, gripping Dick by the shoulders.  His stare burned like frostbite.  ‘Back to the house.  Now.  Go!’

               Dick ran.

               He tore through the trees like he had wolves on his heels.  He reached the house, burst through the door and charged upstairs, wrenching the wardrobe open.  He stared blankly at its contents.  Where would they go?  What would he need?

               Water dripped down the back of the leg.  He was still in his swimming trunks.  He ripped them off, tossed them in the bath, and tugged on dry clothes.  Then he dug through the wardrobe, heart hammering, tossing t-shirts over his shoulder onto the bed.  He didn’t even own a suitcase.  Not even a _rucksack_.  How the hell was he supposed to pack all this?

               And … and why wasn’t Slade up here with him?

               Dick froze.

               His hands were trembling.  He wanted to run again.  To fight something.

               He wanted his alpha, right here at his side.

               Dick reached for the thread in his chest, tying his heart to Slade’s.  To his mate.

               The cord tugged him towards the front door.  Further.  Through the woods and up the road and—

               _The gate._   Dick hissed.  Slade had gone straight to the gate.

               So when his friends arrived …

               _No._

               Dick burst out the bedroom and barrelled down the stairs.

               Slade couldn’t fight the Titans.  He _couldn’t_.  What if he—what if _they_ —

               Dick charged outside, barefoot, and ran.  The ground pounded at the soles of his feet.  Down the drive.  Onto the road.  Through the trees.

               With each step, the tightness in his chest eased, like a fist slowly unclenching.  Slade was growing closer.  And then the tension eased even more, the tightness loosening like a knot suddenly springing free.

               Slade was running back.

               Dick gasped, because he hadn’t even realised how hard it was to breathe, with Slade so far away.  With the panic clawing up through his ribs.  With his feet pounding on the dry earth.

               Slade came round the corner, and Dick launched at him, grabbing his arms in both hands.  He was still in only his swimming trunks, his chest damp with sweat.

               ‘What’re you doing?’ Slade growled.  ‘I told you—’

               ‘You were gonna fight them!’ Dick gasped.  ‘My friends—we have to run—and you were gonna—’

               ‘And risk catching the virus, and passing it to you?’  Slade shook his head, as if something so monumentally stupid couldn’t possibly have occurred to him.  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

               Dick sagged.

               Slade wasn’t going to fight them.

               He wasn’t—they weren’t—

               Dick leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Slade’s chest.  Slade was still for a moment.  Then he wound his arms around Dick, drawing him in close.

               Abruptly, he let go.  ‘Get back in the house.’

               Taking Dick’s upper arm, Slade drew him back down the road.  Dick had to jog to keep up with Slade’s long strides.

               ‘Where can we go?’ Dick said.  ‘D’you have another safehouse?’

               ‘We’re not going anywhere.  This is the safest place for you.’

               Dick choked.  ‘But my friends—they’re here—’

               ‘They won’t find you.  Raven’s magic passed right over us.  I told you, this place is warded against her.  She can search every tree this damn forest and she’ll never find us.’

               Dick released a breath.  ‘ _Oh._ ’

               He was right.  The magic hadn’t passed through the fence.  Hadn’t touched Dick’s skin.  At most, she might’ve noticed a blank spot.  An empty patch in the woods.  But with all the trees and bushes and animals and small, alive, scurrying things in the woods to distract her …

               Slade’s grip tightened on Dick’s arm.  ‘We’re going dark.  Blackout curtains at night.  Low lighting.  Nothing to draw their attention.  The guards will radio in a security report on the hour—’

               ‘No!’ Dick gasped.

               Slade turned, his glare sharp.

               ‘If Raven’s here, Cyborg is, too,’ Dick said.  ‘He’ll pick up a radio signal.’

               Slade lifted his chin, expression smoothing.  ‘I’ll tell the guards.  Radio silence.’

               He stopped, tugging Dick to a halt beside him.  Bending down, Slade buried a hand in Dick’s hair, and dragged him up into a hard kiss.  Dick melted, legs sagging, clinging to Slade’s arm like he’d tumble to his death if he let go.

               Slade drew back too suddenly.  ‘Go back to the house.’

               Dick faltered.  He thought of his friends, tearing through the woods, searching.  They hadn’t seen him since he was pushed into that cop car, Starfire screaming as they held her back.  The memory punched a hole in his heart.

               ‘Can’t I send a message out to them?’ he said.  ‘Tell them what’s happening?  Why they can’t—why I can’t see them?’

               Slade’s face was grey and cold as stone.  ‘You want to tell them you’re pregnant?  That you’re pregnant with _my_ child?’  His fingers traced Dick’s scalp, combing through his hair.  ‘And you think that will keep them away?’

               Dick’s stomach dropped.

               He imagined a world where it was all reversed.  Where Starfire was the omega and he was the alpha.  Where Dick was searching for her.

               And he imaged getting the message from her.  The message that she was pregnant.  That it was Slade’s.  And that he needed to stay away.  That she couldn’t see him.  That she _wanted_ to stay with Slade.

               He wouldn’t believe it.

               He’d think Slade forced her to record the message.  That it was a trick.

               And worse, it would break him.  It would tear him to shreds, to hear Starfire’s voice after so long, only for her to tell him to keep away.

               He wouldn’t rest until he found her, and damn the consequences.

               Slade was right.  His friends wouldn’t stop.  Not because they were cruel, or they didn’t care, but because they weren’t.  Because they’d think it was right to take him away.  Or at least, that it was wrong to leave him.

               And as for Tadpole …

               ‘Radio silence,’ he croaked.

               ‘Exactly.’  Slade dragged him up into another kiss, fingers clenching in Dick’s hair.

               Then he stepped back, turned, and strode back down the road.  After a few paces, he broke into a run.  Back to the guards at the gate.  To warn them.  The bond in Dick’s chest jerked, trying to pull him after Slade.

               Dick closed his eyes, and imagined that thread tugging at his chest was a thread to Starfire.  To his friends.  To home.

               And then he imagined that thread snapping, and falling away.

               He took a breath, and turned back for the house.


	34. Chapter 34

The cabin squatted between the trees, barbed wire fence glittering around it like a crown of thorns.

              Starfire stared between the trees, heart thudding.  _Robin could be in there._

              Footsteps thudded in the distance—heavy boots—and Starfire ducked into the bushes.  Behind her, Raven melted into shadow, pulling Cyborg and Kid Flash with her.  Batman slipped into the shade between the trees as easily as if he had the same powers as Raven.  Beast Boy vanished, and an instant later, a green butterfly landed on Starfire’s shoulder.

              She peered between the leaves, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers, as the footsteps grew closer.  Louder.  A man strode into view near the fence, uniformed in camouflage, black handgun gleaming like a jewel in his belt.

              He marched past, and Starfire realised she was holding her breath only after he disappeared from view.

              Batman swept in beside her, whisper-quiet.  ‘Beast Boy, scout the place.  Be discreet.’

              Beast Boy flashed into a tiny songbird, wings brushing Starfire’s cheek as he fluttered away through the trees.  As they waited, Raven reappeared with Cyborg and Kid Flash—the boys looking a little grey in the face.  When Beast Boy returned, he touched down briefly on Raven’s shoulder before flitting up and turning back into a boy.

              ‘There’s like, a dozen guards round the fence,’ he whispered.  ‘Someone sitting around inside the fence, outside the house.  Smells like an alpha, but I didn’t see their face.’

              Starfire’s stomach knotted.  ‘Robin?’

              Beast Boy shook his head.  ‘Didn’t see him.’

              ‘There’s someone inside the house, too’ Raven said.  ‘I can sense them.’

              ‘So what do we do?’ Kid Flash whispered.  ‘Run in, guns blazing?’

              Starfire rose an inch off the forest floor, star bolts already crackling between her fingers.  Yes.  Guns blazing.  That was what she wanted.  She wanted to throw those guards aside and watch them splat like rotten fruit.  Wanted to dig her fingers into Slade and tear out his _other_ eye.

              But Batman shook his head.  ‘We slip in quietly.  Get in the house, get Robin, and get out.’  He tilted his head.  ‘Raven?’

              Gritting her teeth, Starfire forced herself to lower to the ground.

              Batman was right.  Save Robin first.  Revenge later.

              She took Raven’s proffered hand in a gentle grip, and then took Kid Flash’s on her other side.  A black pool spread from Raven’s feet, cold through the soles of Starfire’s shoes, and then they were sinking—

              It was like dropping into a cold bath.  Starfire’s chest tightened until her bones crushed her heart, and her skin burned with ice, and she tried to gasp and couldn’t, and then—

              The darkness melted away, and they were inside the cabin.

              It was a cramped living room, with wide windows on one side.  Through them, Starfire watched the guard they’d seen earlier march by on the other side of the fence.

              Raven moved first, seeming to sense the right way to go, and Starfire followed at her shoulder.  The boys and Batman crept behind, Cyborg at the very back, moving so slowly and cautiously on his heavy robotic feet he fell behind a little more with each step.

              Raven led them through a dim hallway and upstairs, to a door fastened with a sliding bolt.  Raven slipped it open and pushed through the door.

              Starfire’s heart stopped.

              The figure in the bed was spread-eagled, pale-faced and bruised.  Their arms were tied; wrists zip-locked to the headboard.  They turned their head. 

              It was a woman.

              _Not Robin._

              Starfire buckled, the air crushed from her chest.

              Because it wasn’t Robin.  It wasn’t Robin, limbs tied.  Broken and beaten.  It wasn’t Robin suffering.

              But _it wasn’t Robin._

              The woman opened her mouth, as if to speak, and instead let out a sob.

              A hand traced Starfire’s shoulder, and Batman glided past.  He sat at the edge of the bed, slipped a knife from his pocket and sliced through the zip ties. 

              The woman lurched up, grabbing his shoulders.  ‘She won’t let me go.’

              ‘You’re safe now,’ Batman said.  ‘We’ve come to help you.’

              The woman’s next sob went through Starfire’s chest like splintering bone.   And every alpha instinct in Starfire’s body _screamed_ at her to drag the woman into her arms.  To warm her, whisper to her, comfort her.  To make her safe.

              Starfire edged closer, and knelt on the floor at the woman’s feet.  ‘Please—who will not let you go?’

              ‘My alpha.’  The woman sniffed, loud and wet, and wiped her nose on her sleeve.  ‘She’s trying to—trying to—oh _god_.’  She wound her arms around her stomach and sobbed.  ‘Get me out of here.  Please, _please_ , get me out.  I don’t care if I get the virus.  I don’t care if I die.  I can’t do it.  I _can’t_.’

              ‘Don’t you worry.’  Kid Flash’s voice was hoarse; he still stood in the doorway, his face grey.  ‘We’re getting you out.’

              ‘And you will not die of the virus,’ Starfire said.  ‘There is a cure.’

              The woman shuddered.  ‘She wouldn’t let me … and the doctor said it would make me infertile.’

              Starfire glanced over the woman’s head at Batman.  ‘I … do not understand.  Why would a doctor refuse you the cure?’  Chills crept over her skin.  ‘Why would a _doctor_ allow you to be treated this way?’

              ‘I tried to escape,’ the woman croaked.  ‘Too many times.’  She looked between their pale, horrified faces, and swept a hand up over her forehead and through her matted hair.  ‘You don’t … you don’t know, do you?’  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.  ‘Does … does _anyone_ out there know?  What they’re doing to us?’

              Starfire shook her head.  She couldn’t bring words up through her throat.  Couldn’t ask the question.  The woman’s other arm was still wound around her stomach, and the pieces clicked together, one at a time, with the awful clarity of shattering glass.

              ‘They’re mating us.’  The woman’s voice cracked.  ‘They’re trying to get us pregnant.  They’re—they’re _breeding_ us—’

              Starfire didn’t hear the rest.

              She went straight through the window, in a blaze of fury and green flame.

              There was a woman outside; middle-aged with coppery hair and milk-white skin and arms like beer barrels.  A woman who stank of alpha.  Alpha, with omega layered over her skin like oil.

              The first star bolt hit her between the shoulder blades.

              Starfire didn’t see where the next ones landed.

              She just kept throwing.


	35. Chapter 35

Another house.  Another omega.

               And another, and another.

               They rescued six in that first day.  By the end of it Starfire felt hollowed out, her skin brittle as dead leaves.

               Starfire stood over Batman’s shoulder when he called the Justice League.  He pulled his black cowl over his face for the call, but even if Starfire had brought her uniform with her, she didn’t have the energy to change.  She sagged against the back of the sofa, aching and limp.

               ‘There are dozens of them,’ Batman said, holding the communicator high enough to show his and Starfire’s faces on screen.  ‘Locked up behind barbed wire fences.  Some are better off than others but … Raven senses places like this all the way through the mountains.’

               On the tiny communicator screen, the League clustered around their meeting table on the Satellite.  They stared out at Batman and Starfire with drawn, grey faces.

               Superman bowed his head, swiping a hand over his face.  ‘Just when we thought things were getting better …’

               Beside him, Wonder Woman sat up straight as a pillar, her jaw pulsing as she clenched her teeth.  ‘We will not allow this to stand.  Rounding up omegas, forcing them to mate … this is an appalling violation of human rights, and everything we stand for.’

               ‘And we won’t stand for it.’  Raising his head, Superman let his hand fall back on the table.  ‘How many are with you right now?’

               ‘Six omegas in this house—we couldn’t drag them all back to the ship.  Alphas, too.’  Batman grimaced.  ‘We locked them in the basement.’

               Superman tilted his head at a black-suited man a few chairs further up the table.  ‘Zatara, can you … ?’

               Zatara nodded.  ‘Give me your position.  I will create a portal to the Hall of Justice.  We can care for the omegas there … and deal with these _alphas_.’

               He spat the last word like an insult.  Like these people didn’t deserve to call themselves _alpha_.  Starfire’s stomach squirmed, and she ran her hands up her arms, fighting back a shiver.  Fighting back the oily sensation on her skin.  Tainted by association.

               ‘Sending now.’  Batman tapped the communicator.  ‘See you soon.’

               ‘Batman!’ Superman half-stood, before Batman could snap the communicator shut.  ‘Was Robin … ?’

               Starfire winced, turning away.

               She’d thought … she’d really _hoped_ … every time, at every house …

               ‘No,’ Batman said softly.  ‘We haven’t found him yet.’

               Superman bowed his head.  ‘Well … good luck.’

               Batman closed the communicator.

               He reached back, touching Starfire’s arm.  ‘We’ll find him.’  His voice was low and steady, and raw as a fresh graze.  ‘If not tomorrow, the day after, or the day after that.  We’ll find him.’

               Starfire nodded.  ‘I know.’

               She also knew security would only get tighter the further they went.  News would spread.  How long until there were guards sweeping through the trees?  Until they couldn’t move for armed men, determined to keep them from Robin?

               How long until the alphas fled, taking their omegas with them?

 

* * *

 

The days crawled by, slow as dripping treacle.

               Dick tried to stay busy.  _Tried._ He lifted weights until his arms shook.  He read every story Arthur Conan Doyle ever penned.  He built new nests, and ripped them down, and built them again.  But it was impossible to shake the twist in his stomach.  The jitters running through him.  Because every time he looked out the windows, he remembered they were _here_.

               His friends.

               And if they found him …

               But the days passed and the days passed, however slow.

               One afternoon, a guard rapped smartly on the door.  Dick, curled in his nest on the sofa, snapped his book shut.  He’d just read the same back three times, and hadn’t absorbed a word of it.  Too many butterflies in his stomach.  To little sleep at night, turning over and over with Slade’s heat beside him, longing to creep to the window and watch for green lights flashing in the distance.  Rubbing his eyes, Dick sat up to listen as Slade strode to the door.

               Outside, the guard stood ramrod-straight, practically trembling with professionalism, like a dog waiting for its owner to throw the ball.

               ‘No breaches, sir,’ he said, the moment Slade’s cold eye fell on him.  ‘The intruders are moving further northeast.  Teleporting, we think.’

               ‘Then our priority is to remain unseen,’ Slade said.  ‘They won’t teleport anywhere they don’t know exists.  And in the meantime—’ his single eye flicked back towards Dick, ‘—keep working on Safehouse B.’

               The guard gave a sharp nod, and a smart, ‘Yes sir!’ before Slade closed the door.

               ‘Safehouse B?’ Dick said quietly.

               Slade leaned back on the door, arms folded, and stared him down.  ‘This is still the safest place for you.’

               Dick narrowed his eyes.  ‘Safehouse B,’ he said again, less a question and more a demand.’

               Slade shook his head.  ‘Another safehouse won’t be as well-guarded, or warded against Raven.  We don’t run until we have to.’  He hesitated.  ‘But _if_ we have to ...’

               Dick swallowed.  ‘Where?’

               ‘North, at first.  Then we’ll leave the country.’

               Dick snorted.  ‘Good to know you’ve got it planned in detail.’

               Slade crossed the space between them in a few long strides, stepped round the sofa, and sank into the cushions beside Dick.  He squeezed Dick’s shoulders.  Ran his hands down Dick’s back.  Dick stiffened.

               Slade slipped his hands over Dick’s hips, under his t-shirt. 

               Here it came.  First the light touches, then the lips against his throat, and the powerful scent of the alpha, and—

               His jaw ached.  He was gritting his teeth.  Slade dragged him in closer, pulling Dick’s back up against his chest.  But Dick felt tired, aching right into his bones, and he _couldn’t_.  Not with his thoughts circling back to his friends.  Not with Starfire so close by—

_Starfire—_

               ‘Slade—’ Dick mumbled, because he had to _try_.  ‘I don’t—I don’t want to—’

               ‘No, no,’ Slade murmured.  ‘I just want to hold you.’

               He curled his arms tighter around Dick’s body, like he couldn’t stand to let him go.  He spread his hands over Dick’s belly.  Over that tiny bump, where Tadpole was growing.

               ‘You don’t need to worry about where we’re going,’ Slade said.  ‘You don’t need to worry about anything, except this.’

               He squeezed, gently, the way Dick had when he first wanted to hold Tadpole.  And for the first time, Dick imagined Slade actually _holding_ the baby.

               It was a … _weird_ image.  But he liked it.  Liked the idea of sitting here, like this, some day in the future, with their child really _there_ with them.

               It was also the closest thing to peaceful he’d felt all day.

               So he closed his eyes, leaned his head back into Slade’s shoulder, and let himself imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for that last scene to Tomato_Carnage, who came up with the "I just want to hold you" idea ages ago. I'm really glad I found a place to sneak it in - hope you like it! :)


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has been far too much plot in this fanfic for my liking lately ... back to porn. ;)

It was a smile that set him off.

               Autumn was crumbling away.  Brown and gold leaves freckled the woods, and the air was cool enough for Dick to put a sweater on before he came down to breakfast.

               Slade caught him by the elbow at the bottom of the stairs, and steered him away from the kitchen.  ‘Put on your shoes.  We’re going for a walk.’

               Cold pooled in Dick’s belly, even as his chest ached with the urge to obey.

               It wasn’t just the bond.  It’d been weeks since he’d really gone outside.  Weeks of house arrest, barely allowing himself to step out on the porch.  Because what if they saw?  What if his friends flew overhead, or snuck past the guards and through the fence, and—

               He swallowed.  ‘Is it … safe?’

               ‘The Titans are over the mountains now.’  Slade pressed a long, slow kiss into Dick’s hair.  ‘You’re safe with me.’

               Warmth fluttered in Dick’s chest.  He let out a breath.  ‘OK.’

               He shoved on his shoes, fumbling over the laces, pulled on the as-yet unused coat hanging by the door, and followed Slade outside.

               The air tasted clean, almost _thin_ after so long trapped indoors, and he gulped down deep lungfuls as they strode out into the woods.  Dick’s breath clouded in the cool air.  Twigs snapped and crunched under his trainers, every step satisfying.  Like popping bubble wrap.  He grinned, nerves dissipating the further they walked.

               They were striding past the lake Slade looked down over his shoulder, and—

               Dick’s legs turned to water.

               It was just a smile.  The same smile Slade always had—thin and sharp and sardonic, like he didn’t want to admit he meant it.

               But it went through Dick like a blast of hot air.  Like boiling water flooding into his blood.  His chest tightened, and his mouth went dry, and heat pooled in his lower body.

               He reached up, looped his arms around Slade’s neck, and dragged that smile down into an open-mouthed kiss.

               For a moment, Slade didn’t move.  Then his mouth parted, and he bent down, arms curling around Dick’s waist.  Drawing him closer.  Dick traced his tongue over Slade’s lips.  Leaned into the warmth of Slade’s body.  Sliding his hands up the sides of Slade’s neck, he scratched his fingers through Slade’s beard; buried them in Slade’s hair.  Tightened his fists.

               Slade growled.  Tremors raced through Dick’s body, heat flashing between his legs.  He groaned, nipping Slade’s lip, grinding his hips against Slade’s.

               His belly pressed between them, the swell just enough now to get in the way.  But if Slade noticed, he didn’t seem to care, fists tightening at Dick’s hips, tongue flashing into Dick’s mouth in sharp, heated strokes.

               Dick slipped his hands out of Slade’s hair and down his body; Slade’s belt buckle clattered as he fumbled.

               Slade pushed his hand away.  ’In the house.’

               Dick groaned.  Arched up to nip at Slade’s lip.  ‘Here is fine.’

               ‘ _Here_ is thirty degrees.’  Slade’s breath steamed in front him as he drew back, proving his point.  ‘Come on.’

               He curled a hand around Dick’s wrist, cold fingertips sliding up Dick’s sleeve and pressing into his skin.

               The walk back was agony, blood throbbing between Dick’s legs.  He wanted to jerk Slade to a stop.  To shove him up against a tree.  To drag him down among the dry leaves, and feel the cold air biting at his skin and Slade’s mouth at his throat—

               He settled for pushing Slade against the door the instant he closed it, ripping Slade’s belt open, and dropping on his knees to swallow Slade’s cock.

               Slade choked, head thudding back against the door.

               Dick parted his lips wider, tongue writhing over the hard ridge at the underside of Slade’s cock as he slid down; lips tightening as he drew back and sucked.  Slade curled his fingers in Dick’s hair.  It was getting long now.  Easier for Slade to twine in his fingers—to tug and yank and twist as Dick bobbed his head, sucking and slurping, the lewd, wet sounds of his own tongue sending spikes of heat down through his body.  Dick traced his palms up the insides of Slade’s thighs.  Tugged Slade’s jeans down further.  Curled his palms around Slade’s balls.

               Hissing, Slade titled his head back.  Dick glanced up, and the flash of Slade’s throat as he breathed was—was—

               Dick moaned, long and loud, around Slade’s cock.  And he kind of—kind of wanted Slade to come right here, like this.  To feel Slade’s knot swell against his tongue.  To swallow his come, as much as he could, until he choked.

               But just the _thought_ sent hot, wet spasms though his cunt, and Dick shivered.

               He drew back, gasping, and before he could lean in again Slade reached down and hauled him up.  Slade snarled, and next thing his hand clamped around Dick’s arm, and he dragged Dick down the hall to the living room, towards the sofa.  Dick stumbled, kicking off his trainers as he walked, fumbling with the buttons on his own jeans.

               The instant Slade let go of his arm, Dick ripped his coat off, reached up over his head, and hauled his t-shirt and jumper off in one tug.  He grabbed the collar of Slade’s coat and dragged Slade in for another kiss, hard and wet, teeth clashing.  He shoved Slade’s coat backwards down his arms; Slade rolled his shoulders and let the coat drop without ever leaning back, kissing and biting and snarling into Dick’s mouth.

               ‘Scent gland—’ Dick gasped.

               Slade ducked, arms coiling around Dick’s back, solid as iron bars.  ‘I know.’  His tongue traced Dick’s throat; first at the collar, then up the column of his neck, to the corner of his jaw and over that tingling, sensitive patch of skin.  ‘I know you like it.’

               Dick whined, sparks bursting in his vision like fireworks, and Slade pushed him back until he toppled onto the sofa.  Dick’s skin prickled with cold for the moment they were apart; then Slade’s lips pressed into his hair, his body arching over Dick’s, and Dick’s knees fell open on instinct.  Slade slipped between them, rolling his hips, following Dick as he sank gradually back into the piles of pillows and blankets—his nest.

               And god, it felt so good—so _right_ —to be here.  Sprawled in his nest, with his alpha over him.  It was soft and warm and aching and wonderful, and Dick moaned and arched his back, chasing the friction of Slade’s body through his jeans.

               ‘You’re perfect.’  Slade slid his hands over Dick’s chest, tweaking at his nipples; Dick whimpered and writhed.  His hands smoothed over Dick’s swelling belly, gentler, almost reverent.  ‘My perfect omega.’

               And god, Dick felt like he was glowing; like he could power a city with the heat pouring off his skin.  ‘My alpha,’ he whispered, and realised he’d never really said it like that.  Never even thought it.  Like it was something to be proud of.  Like Slade was something he owned.  He curled his hands up around Slade’s neck, voice dipping into a growl almost as deep as Slade’s own.  ‘ _My alpha._ ’

               Slade _groaned_.  He bowed his head, kissing Dick’s shoulder, his jaw, his throat.  Lips fluttering over the long-healed white bite scars.  Dick crept his hands up through Slade’s hair, until his fingers traced the black elastic of the eye patch.

               He hesitated.  Slade stilled over him, arms shifting as his muscles tensed.

               He’d never seen Slade without the eye patch.  Not once.  Even when he slept.  Even when they fucked.  Slade was never really naked.

               Dick curled his thumb under the elastic, and lifted the eye patch away.

               He held his breath.

               Slade raised his head.

               The scars were deep and savage, slashing through his right eye like jagged red bolts of lightning.  The eye itself was pearly-white, misty, with no iris.  Glass.  The lid hung half-open.  It twitched when Slade blinked, but didn’t close.

               Dick reached up, put the pad of his thumb to Slade’s cheekbone, and brushed gently over the ridge of the deepest scar.  Then he drew Slade down and kissed him, long and hard, until Slade groaned into his mouth.

               ‘How do you want it?’ Slade breathed.  ‘Fast or slow?’

               ‘Fast first,’ Dick said.  ‘Slow later.’

               Slade laughed, low and quiet.  But he kissed Dick again, right over his scent gland, so Dick shivered and whined and clawed at his arms.  ‘Whatever you want.’

               He shifted back, peeling Dick’s jeans down his legs before standing to kick out of his own.  He knelt between Dick’s knees, bowing to slide up tongue up over Dick’s slit.  Dick mewled and writhed, hands twisting in the blankets as Slade moved up, tongue gliding wet along Dick’s aching cock.

               ‘Slade—’ he gasped.  ‘Please— _please_ —’

               ‘Shh.’  Slade took Dick’s ankle, lifting Dick’s leg and hooking it up over his own shoulder.  ‘I’ve got you.’

               Warm, blunt pressure.  Then the sweet, stretching feeling of Slade’s cock filling him.  And fuck, _fuck_ , Dick was so wet he slipped in easy.  Slade shifted, gripping Dick’s leg up against his chest in one hand, and Dick’s hip in the other, then he snapped his hips forward and pounded down and into him.  Again and again and again, fast and hard as pounding a drum.  Dick gasped and moaned, hands clenching in the pillows, breath coming short and sharp, head spinning.

               He was climbing.  Rising.  Heat building.  He slipped a hand down his body and curled his fingers round his cock, tugging in rhythm with Slade’s thrusts.  Hazy, gasping, he looked up into Slade’s face.  Into his eyes.  One sharp and flinty and grey, one misty-white and blind.

               Dick came with a shout that shook his bones.

               And before he could drift down, he felt tightness building in him.  Slade’s hips stuttered, and a flush spread up his chest, the tendons straining in his throat, and he snarled—

               Dick groaned at the pleasant, burning grip of Slade’s knot locking into place.

               He flopped back, gulping air like he was drowning.  One by one, his muscles softened.  He closed his eyes.  When Slade leaned down beside him, Dick buried his head in Slade’s neck and took deep, slow breaths of that alpha scent.

_My alpha._

               He licked his lips.  Leaned forward.  Brushed his mouth over Slade’s skin—

_Mine._

               —And bit down.

               He was gentle, at first.  Waiting for Slade to push him off.  But Slade’s breath hitched, and he didn’t move, so Dick bit down harder, and harder, working his teeth into Slade’s skin.  It felt right.  As right as the softness of the pillows and the warmth of Slade’s body and the pressure of Slade’s knot inside him.  He bit until he tasted blood, and then let go, lapping it away with slow, soft strokes of his tongue.

               Slade held him until his knot eased enough for them to part.

               And then held him longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update - for some reason this chapter was a right bastard to finish. I now have several failed attempts sitting in a shamefolder on my laptop to attest to that. :p


	37. Chapter 37

Starfire swept a hand up through her hair, and blew out a heavy breath.

               This was the one.

               I had to be.

               And besides, she could _feel_ it.

               Beside her, Batman tugged at his gloves, expressions distant.  When Wally caught her glance, he flashed her a grin.

               The Hall of Justice buzzed around them.  Omegas traipsed around the halls, shepherded by League members, lost and dazed without their alphas.  Many looked as pale and sick as Wally had, halfway through their treatments.  Outside, the distant roar of the permanent paparazzi camp sounded like the ocean in a storm.

               Starfire didn’t go out the front door anymore.  The flashing cameras and screaming questions gave her a pounding headache.

               Taking his place in front of them, Zatara adjusted his sleeves.  ‘Are you ready?’

               Starfire nodded.  ‘We will find him this time.’

               They had to.

               This was the last house.

               Beast Boy, Raven and Cyborg had gone out this morning on their own rescue mission.  They were buzzing on their way through the portal, Beast Boy bouncing on his toes, flitting from one animal to another faster than Starfire could register.

               They returned grey-faced, with a stranger.  Another abused omega, glad to be rescued.

               Another not-Robin.

               Which meant …

               Zatara waved his hand, opening a swirling gold portal.  Starfire’s heart pounded.  She was going to find him.  Going to pull Robin into her arms and never let him go again.  And if—if he was hurt—

               Starfire tightened her hands into fists.

               Slade couldn’t fathom what she’d unleash on him.

               Batman stepped through first.  Wally gave Starfire a thumbs-up, then disappeared through the portal in a yellow blur.

               Starfire gulped.

               _I’m coming, Robin._

               And ran through after them.

               The walls of the Hall of Justice fizzled away in gold sparks.  One second, Starfire’s footsteps cracked on hard linoleum.  Next, they were cushioned in a soft, springy carpet.

               The living room was clean and bright, winter sunlight glowing through the wide windows.  Potted plants littered them room: a spider plant at the end of the sofa, a Venus fly-trap next to the TV.  The house felt hushed and soft, like a morning after snow.

               A few rooms away, something clinked.

               Starfire glanced up at Batman.  He looked out of place in the soft, cosy living room.  Like a black crack in polished marble.  He didn’t return her look—just strode out into the hallway.  Starfire followed him, starbolts crackling at her fingertips. Wally tense at her side.  The clinking sounds grew louder as they crept down the hallway; porcelain and glass clattering together; water sloshing.  Batman reached an open door, and slipped through.

               Heart pounding in her throat, Starfire followed.

               And fell still.

               Sunlight glowed through the kitchen.  The room smelled of dish soap and disinfectant; sinus-achingly _clean_.  Across the room, someone stood with their back to the door.

               Starfire’s chest collapsed.

               She couldn’t breathe.

               It wasn’t Robin.

               It was a woman.  Her golden hair swayed in a plait down her back as she worked, elbow-deep in the sink washing dishes.  Her shoulders stiffened as they stepped in, but she didn’t turn.

               _Not Robin._   Starfire’s throat ached, like she was being choked.  Blood pounded in her head, pressure building behind her eyes.  _Not Robin, not Robin, not—_

               It was the last house.  Which meant Robin had to be here.

               So _why wasn’t he here?_

               ‘Stay back.’  The woman slipped a hand out the sink, white suds dripping from her fingers.  She reached across the side board, and drew a chef’s knife from the drying rack.  Her voice was low, nasal, and for a moment she _felt_ almost alpha, although she didn’t smell it.  ‘I mean it.’

               ‘Please.’  Starfire’s voice came out robotic.  Forced.  ‘We mean you no harm.’

               ‘I don’t care whatcha mean.  Stay the hell back.’  The woman swivelled slowly on her toes.  Her face was pale and pointed, her eyes chips of ice.

               And her belly was round as a balloon.

               Starfire’s breath stuck.

               They’d met pregnant omegas before.  A few weeks along, usually.  All flat-stomached and tired-eyed and willing to reach for the cure regardless.  None of them like _this_.

               The woman held the knife out in front of her, not like a scared omega, but like someone who knew how to use it.  Her eyes flicked past Starfire and Wally, shooting straight to Batman.  Her hard expression faltered.  Her mouth fell open.  ‘ _Bats?_ ’

               And Batman— _choked._   ‘Harleen?’

               The woman lowered the knife.  ‘You gotta be shittin’ me.’

               Wally shifted.  ‘Uhh … Batman?  You know this … nice … lady?’

               ‘Harleen Quinzel.’  Batman lifted his chin.

               ‘Aw, Bats.’  The woman grinned.  ‘Y’know I prefer Harley.’

               Starfire jolted.  And suddenly, recognition flooded through her.  She knew this woman.  Knew her from photographs Robin showed her, years ago.  Photographs of him putting her in handcuffs; handing her to the police.  Her face was smeared chalk-white back then, a black domino mask over her eyes.

               ‘Harley Quinn?’ she whispered.  ‘You’re Harley Quinn?’

               Harley winked.  ‘You know it.’  She grinned up at Batman, flicking the chef’s knife lazily in his direction.  ‘Didja come all this way just to see me?’  She gasped, putting her free hand to her mouth in mock surprise.  ‘Are you gonna save me from the big, bad alpha?’

               ‘Cut the crap, Harley,’ Batman snapped.  ‘Where’s the Joker?’

_Where’s Robin?_

               Starfire bit her tongue.

               He took a step closer, and Harley lifted the knife again, her smirk disappearing.  ‘Uh-uh!  I’m gonna pop any day now—’ she wound an arm around her belly, ‘—and I ain’t catchin’ the omega virus off any of you morons.  So _back off_.’

               Batman straightened his shoulders.  Set his jaw.

               And took a step back.

               ‘The Joker,’ he said again.  ‘Where is he?’

               Harley snorted.  ‘Mister J ain’t here, Batsy.’  She rolled her eyes.  ‘You know, it’s funny.  He could’ve applied to be my alpha, but he didn’t.  He asked for Robin instead.  Your Robin!  Imagine.’  She laughed, hard as granite, and didn’t seem to notice the way Batman tensed, or the starbolts flickering in Starfire’s hands.  She shook her head.  ‘What a bastard.’

               Starfire swallowed.  Robin told her about the Joker and Harley.  About how dangerous they were.  But this woman, cradling her pregnancy bump, seemed … well not a _million_ miles from Robin’s description.  She did have a knife in her hand.  But still …

               ‘If not the Joker,’ Starfire said softly, ‘then … who … ?’

               ‘I got a new alpha.’  Harley’s eyes flicked over Starfire’s shoulder.  ‘Isn’t that right, babe?’

               Starfire whirled.

               A dark figure slunk down the hallway.  Bare feet padded softly on the carpet.  Red hair glowed in the dim winter light.  Starfire hadn’t met her before, but she _knew_ her.  From news clips and photos and more of Robin’s stories.

               Poison Ivy folded her arms, leaned a shoulder against the wall, and murmured, ‘That’s right.’  Her eyes flicked between them.  ‘Now get out of my house.’

               Starfire glanced up at Batman, but he didn’t seem terribly surprised.  In fact, he let out a slow breath, shoulders sloping.  As though he was … _relieved._

               ‘Ivy.’

               She tilted her head.  ‘Didn’t you hear me?  Get away from my omega, and _get out._ ’

               Her lip curled on the last two words, voice deepening into a snarl.  A savoury, alpha scent wafted into the air, something like herbs, or grass after summer rain.  Starfire wrinkled her nose, dropping instinctively into a crouch at the threat in Ivy’s tone.

               Batman didn’t move.  ‘Harley?’

               Harley sighed theatrically.  ‘Yeah?’

               ‘Are you safe here?  Are you happy?’

               Harley stared.  Then, slowly, as though she wasn’t sure what he really wanted, she said, ‘Uh … yeah?’

               ‘You can come with us,’ Batman continued.  ‘We’ll keep you safe.  You can take the cure.’

               ‘And lose my baby?’  Harley’s voice shot up an octave.  Her arm tightened around her belly.  ‘Get outta here, Bats.  This—this thing—this _programme_?  This is the best thing that ever happened to me.  I ain’t a criminal anymore.  Records expunged, can you believe that?  And Ivy don’t treat me like—’  She stopped, shoulders hunching.  Blew out a breath.  ‘Ivy treats me _right_.’  She put the knife down on the sideboard with a firm clack.  ‘I just wanna have our baby in peace, OK?  I don’t wanna lose him.’  Her jaw tightened.  ‘So get out.’

               Ivy’s voice was barely more than a purr.  ‘You heard the lady.’

               A green vine, thick as Starfire’s arm, slipped down the wall and twined around Ivy’s neck, like a snake curling up on her shoulders.  It twisted towards Starfire, and despite not having eyes, did an alarming impression of looking right at her.

               ‘All right,’ Batman said softly.  ‘All right, we’ll leave.’

               He swept out into the hallway, drawing his cape in tight, careful to stay far enough from Ivy that he wouldn’t accidentally touch her.  Wouldn’t accidentally pass her the virus.

               Starfire looked over at Wally.  His face was tight, his lips thin.  But he gave her a weak smile, and then hurried out after Batman.  Starfire followed, moving slowly, stepping carefully around Ivy.  She walked behind Batman and Wally through the golden portal, her head whirling.

               Sparks fizzed, and then the living room was gone.

               They were back.

               The portal closed behind them, and for a moment Starfire could only see a blur of random colours.  Then she blinked, and hot tears slipped down her cheeks.  She brushed them away.

               And looked up into the eager, wide-eyed faces of Cyborg, Raven and Beast Boy.

               The three of them looked between Batman, Wally and Starfire, eyes wide, smiles gradually falling as they registered Starfire’s expression.

               Beast Boy’s ears drooped.  ‘Where is he, Star?’

               Starfire’s stomach tightened.

               ‘Robin wasn’t there.’  Her voice was tiny.  ‘It was … someone else.  She was pregnant.  She didn’t want—’

               Her throat tightened.

               All this time.  All these months, _wasted_.

               As soon as she thought it, her skin crawled with shame.  Because the time wasn’t wasted.  They’d rescued so many people.  So many scared, trapped omegas.  And all of them were worth it.  Every one of them.

               But they weren’t Robin.

               ‘We have two options,’ Batman said.  ‘Either Robin is still in that compound, and we didn’t find him, or Slade has moved him.’  His jaw shifted, like he was clenching his teeth.  ‘In which case …’

               Starfire squeezed her eyes closed.

               In which case, they had no leads.  They had nothing.

               Robin was lost.

               Starfire turned to Raven, pleading.  ‘Could you … ?’

               Raven shrugged, shaking her head.  ‘I could’ve missed something.  But I _looked_.  There were no other houses.  Just trees and lakes, for miles.’

               A voice at Starfire’s back said, ‘Pardon me?’

               She turned as Zatara stepped forward, nodding at Raven.

               ‘Raven,’ he said.  ‘Could someone have warded against your magic?’

               For a moment, Raven was still.

               Then—

               ‘Y-yes.’

               ‘Would you sense it, if they did?’

               Raven hesitated.  Bit her lip.

               And shook her head.

               Something fluttered in Starfire’s chest.  The tiniest, barest spark.

               ‘Slade would totally do that.’  Beast Boy nudged Raven’s arm.  ‘I mean, he met your _dad_ , right?  He knows your powers.  He’d wanna keep you away.’

               Raven winced at the mention of her father, but she nodded again.  ‘Slade knows all of us.  He knows how we think.’

               ‘He doesn’t know me,’ Batman said.  ‘We’re going back.  We’ll spread out and sweep the woods on foot.  That may be the only way we can find Robin.’

               Starfire drew a deep breath, and tried to hide that it was also a sniff.  She brushed her hands over her eyes, wiping off the damp of tears.  ‘Then we’ll do it,’ she said firmly.  ‘We will find him.  We _will_.’


	38. Chapter 38

Thanksgiving passed quietly and without ceremony.  Then Christmas.

               Titan’s Tower would be glittering this time of year, with tangled lights strung around the windows, and an overlarge Christmas tree forced through the elevator and wedged into the living room.  Starfire decorated it in whatever sparkling trinkets she found around the house—knives and forks, bottle caps, empty bottles of nail varnish—all strung up on the sagging branches.

               Wayne Manor would be tastefully decorated: colour-coordinated trees in the library, the living room and the garden; garlands on the doors and woven round the banisters; mistletoe dangling discreetly over the front door.  Dick used to have fun when he was kid, moving the mistletoe from door to door throughout Bruce’s many charity Christmas parties, forcing Bruce to peck the cheek of every hopeful, flirtatious gold-digger in Gotham.

               The safehouse in the woods remained bare.

               Dick made a half-hearted effort to decorate.  He wound a half-decent wreath together, tying it up with string, but it sprang apart after an hour, spraying twigs and pine needles across the floor.  So Dick absent-mindedly cut a few paper snowflakes up to stick in the window—but gave up when Slade sat down to watch him, his silver brow tense, like any moment Dick might feel the urge to shove the scissors down his own throat.

               On New Year’s Eve, they watched the ball drop in New York on the TV, curled together on the sofa.  Slade pulled Dick into a kiss as fireworks burst on the screen.  And then dragged him down flat on the sofa, hands sliding down Dick’s body, and fucked him under the dim, shifting lights of the TV.

               A few weeks into the New Year, the little flurries of snow that’d come and gone since November finally settled.  Dick woke one morning with the dry air burning his nose, padded out of bed, and stared out the window across a forest from a Christmas card.

               They waited until it stopped snowing to start their hike.  Dick huffed as he bent to tie his boots, his belly now so round it felt like having a basketball wedged up his shirt.  He groaned as he stood up—it was heavy, too, Tadpole seeming to grow faster every day.

               ‘D’you think Sadie can bring the ultrasound machine back up soon?’  He shuffled out the front door after Slade, who walked ahead, kicking snow aside to make a path up to the woods, where the ground was clearer, protected by the trees.

               ‘In this weather?’ Slade glanced back, giving Dick the smirk that still made him weak at the knees.  ‘You’ll have to be patient.’

               Sighing dramatically, Dick ducked into the woods, flicking a fir branch to watch the snow flutter down like powdered sugar.  According to the pregnancy book, his next ultrasound was long overdue.  But with security tightened around the safehouse, Sadie had barely been able to come up herself.

               ‘They’re taking them away,’ she admitted once, in a low whisper, her hair in disarray, her eyes dark and bruised.  ‘The Titans, the Justice League, whoever they are—they’re snatching our omegas out from under us and there’s nothing we can do.’

               Slade had drawn Dick closer to his side.  ‘Dick has the best protection.’

               Sadie nodded miserably, and didn’t bring it up again.

               All reports said the Titans were moving further away across the mountains, but Slade didn’t loosen security.  He barely even let Dick go to the bathroom alone.  He watched Dick work out in the gym; crowded him in the shower; pulled him into the kitchen while he cooked to chop vegetables or watch pasta boil.

               As they hiked up through the acres of woods, Dick bent and scooped a snowball.  Being outside was easier than being in the house.  Less cramped.  When they walked together, it felt less like Slade was constantly waiting for an attack.

               Dick picked a tree, and hurled the snowball overarm.  It burst against a branch three feet short, and Dick groaned.  But the second snowball was near bullseye, and the third hit the knot he was aiming for dead-on.  He hissed in victory, pumping his fist, and bent to scoop another.

               ‘If you throw one of those at me,’ Slade called over his shoulder, ‘I’ll make you regret it.’

               Dick snorted.  ‘Is that a promise?’

               But he wasn’t a hundred per cent sure Slade was joking, so as he patted the next snowball down, he scanned the forest for a different target.

               They stepped out the trees into a clearing.  In the summer, it was bursting with wildflowers.  Now, the place was soft and quiet, the chatter of birds and animals muted by the snow.  Dick massaged his head with his free hand.  Maybe it was the cold, or the dry air, but he felt dizzy, his head soft and woolly.

               ‘That one.’  Slade pointed across the clearing.  ‘Hit the knot that looks like an eye.’

               Dick peered, and spotted the tree.  ‘That’s miles away.’

               ‘I’ve seen you throw a smoke bomb between Clayface’s feet from a rooftop, while backflipping out of a grapple.’  Slade rolled his single eye.  ‘Stop complaining and hit it.’

               Dick laughed.  Clayface.  Grappling.  Jump City.  It was all so far away.  Another life.  Back then, he was doing what was right.  Now, what was right had changed.  He just had to survive.  Him, and Tadpole.

               He fixed on the knot, and snapped his arm forward, hurling the snowball across the clearing.  Something flashed at the edge of his vision, and Dick glanced up just as the snowball exploded against the knot.  A perfect shot.

               Frowning, Dick searched the mountains over the treetops.  Their peaks were buried in clouds, their bases misty purple, spiky with trees.  They were still and quiet and distant.  But he could have sworn—

_There._

               A tiny, weak flicker of colour, at the edge of the mountain.  Like a lantern emerging from fog.  The smallest pinprick of light.

               Green light.

_Starbolt._

               Dick’s legs locked.  He couldn’t breathe.

               They were here.  They were coming _back_.  Back, across the mountains.  Back towards him, and Slade, and Tadpole—

_—and Tadpole—_

               ‘Dick.’  Slade’s hand landed on his shoulder.  ‘What is it?  Are you hurt?’

               Dick pointed up the mountain, now just a grey-white blur around that dot of green light.  He croaked, ‘Starfire.’

               Slade’s head snapped round, following his gaze up the mountain.  For a moment, he was silent.  Utterly still.  Then he cursed.  The sound echoed around Dick’s head, hollow.  Slade said something else, but it was all a blur.  A rush of random noise, like hearing voices from underwater.

               The world tunnelled around the distant light of the starbolt.

               Stars exploded in Dick’s vision.

               Slade's arms locked around him as he collapsed.


	39. Chapter 39

Pine needles rushing past.  Snow crunching underfoot.  Stumbling on half-numb legs, Slade’s arm around his waist.  A chain-link fence blurring on one side of him, and then Slade’s voice, snarling orders to the guards through the wire.

               ‘They haven’t been teleporting, sir.’  The guard’s voice wavered, too deep, like a stretched cassette tape.  ‘We think they’re walking back, searching on foot.’

               ‘They know we’re here,’ Dick murmured, and Slade pulled him closer to his side.

               ‘Widen the perimeter,’ he said.  ‘Double the feet on the ground.  And send out the spares.’

               Spares?  Dick blinked, hazy.  Spares of what?

               ‘Yes, sir.’  The guard’s lip twitched.  ‘They’ve been looking forward to this.’

               Before Dick could ask, Slade whirled him around, and next thing they were back in the house.  Slade let him go, and Dick stumbled, back thudding against the wall.  He longed to sink into the sofa.  Or back in bed.  If he closed his eyes, maybe he could wake up and it would be morning again, fresh snow glittering out the window, and Starfire wouldn’t be coming after all …

               His chest tightened.

               _Starfire._

               Her smile flashed into his head.  Her soft, high laugh.  The warmth of her fingers laced in his.

               He’d see her again.  Someday.  After Tadpole was born.  After this whole omega virus was finally cured, totally cured, without any side effects.  Dick would see her again then.  He’d have a chance to explain.  To her, and the Titans, and Bruce … to everyone.

               But right now …

               ‘We have to leave,’ Dick said, numbly.

               Slade closed the door with a sharp snap.  ‘No.’

               ‘Slade—’

               ‘We’re safest here.’  Slade whirled, single eye blazing.  ‘We have guards.  We have wards.  This place is defensible.’

               ‘It won’t make a difference,’ Dick croaked.  ‘They’ll find me.’

               Lunging in, Slade grabbed Dick’s arm in a bone-crushing grip.  ‘And you want to make it easy for them?  Is that it?  You _want_ to leave, so they can find you, and take you away from me?’

               ‘No!’  Dick gasped, reaching up to peel Slade’s fingers off his arm.  ‘Slade—let go—you’re hurting me.’

               Slade loosened his grip, but he didn’t step back.

               ‘If we stay here, they’ll find me, and they’ll take me.’  Dick could barely get his voice above a whisper.  ‘And I’ll lose Tadpole.  And—and you.’  His throat tightened.  ‘Slade please.  _Please_.  We have to go.’

               For a long, painful moment, Slade didn’t move.  Then he reached for Dick again.  Gently this time.  He set his hands on Dick’s shoulders.  ‘They are not going to find us.’

               ‘But—’

               ‘ _And_ ,’ Slade said, louder, ‘if they do, I won’t let them near you.  Running is our last resort.  We’ll have no guards.  No defences.  I can’t disguise you as a beta this time.  Anyone who wants an omega— _anyone_ —could turn on us.  If we run, we’re vulnerable.’

               ‘So what?’ Dick croaked.  ‘We just wait for the Titans to find us?’

               ‘Oh, Dick.’  Slade squeezed Dick’s shoulders.  ‘Have a little faith in me.’

 

* * *

 

The blizzard was hell.

               It was easier for Starfire to list the parts of her that _weren’t_ numb, stinging, or frozen solid.  Winters on Tamaran were colder, but now she wished she hadn’t refused the goose down coats and fleece jackets her teammates were wearing.

               Not they seemed to be helping.  Beast Boy was a polar bear, head bowed against the wind.  The others trudged along with their hoods up, hands shoved under their arms and shoulders hunched as they followed the green glow of Starfire’s starbolt through the storm.  Raven had kept a shield around them as long as she could.  Now she sagged against Beast Boy’s furry shoulder, one hand on his neck for balance.  She looked a few paces short of collapse.

               The wind had raged through the night and into the next morning.  Now when Starfire brought starbolts to her eyes, she could see it was clear down the mountain, the rising sun picking out sparkles of settled snow in the valleys.

               She doubted the others could see their own hands in front of their faces.

               ‘It is not far now!’ she called, for what felt like the thousandth time.  ‘We will be clear in a few minutes!’

               Only Beast Boy replied—a low, guttural grumble deep in his bear throat.

               But gradually, the weather proved Starfire right.  The wind settled.  The snowfall went from stinging razors to grey-white haze to flutters of soft snowflakes.  Starfire stayed up ahead, urging the others downhill through the snow.  They marched into sparse woodland, clambering over roots and ducking branches, until they broke out into a wide, bright clearing.

               The clouds thinned, and the sun winked behind them a cat opening its eye, blinking lazily in half-sleep.

               Wally groaned, throwing his hood down.  ‘We need skis.  We’d be down the bottom by now on skis.’

               ‘Down the bottom, with a broken neck.’  Raven yawned.  ‘You’re dangerous enough on two feet, Wally.’

               Batman pulled his own hood down.  He was wearing his cowl underneath it, Starfire guessed as much to keep his face warm as to hide his identity from anyone they crossed.  ‘We should rest.  The blizzard’s moving up the mountain.’

               Groaning in relief, Starfire lowered her hand, finally letting the starbolt go out.

               Far away down the mountain, the trees reared for miles.  Starfire slumped in the snow, scanning as far as she could see.  Somewhere down there, Robin was imprisoned.  Locked up.  Locked up with _Slade_.  She searched for some obvious sign of where he could be.  A clearing.  The tiny, square shape of a house.

               The clouds rolled overhead.  The sun winked and brightened.

               And down in the woods, something winked back.  A tiny gleam.  Something metal?

               Starfire frowned, shielding her eyes with a hand.  ‘Wally?’

               He dropped down next to her, kicking up puffs of powdery snow.  ‘Yeah?’

               ‘Please, do you see this?’  She pointed.  ‘I believe something is reflecting the sun.  Perhaps … ?’  She glanced sideways at him.

               Wally didn’t look up.  He narrowed his eyes behind his shaded goggles, leaning forward against his knees.  ‘I mean … I guess?  Could be a fence?  Maybe?’  He sat back.  ‘Looks like another day’s walk away, at least.’

               ‘Unless …’  Starfire glanced back at the others.  But Raven was asleep, sitting up against Beast Boy with her cheek pressed into his fur and her mouth slack.

               She needed the rest.  They all did.  _Starfire_ did.

               Shimmying back, she leaned against a hefty tree root and tipped her head back.  She couldn’t sleep, but she could rest.  Maybe dig out some rations.  The instant, watery-thin cocoa in her bag sounded blissful right now.  _Anything_ hot sounded blissful right now.

               Just as she closed her eyes, the first gunshot cracked through the mountain air.


	40. Chapter 40

A black shield spread in the air, darkening Starfire’s vision.  The bullet cracked against it, sending white ripples over the shield.  Starfire glanced back, gasping.  Behind her, Raven stood with arm outstretched, brow lowered as she focused on maintaining the shield a moment longer, before she let it dissolve.

               Starfire streaked into the air, starbolts crackling in both hands.  Beast Boy lumbered to his feet, lowered his head and let out a roar that shook the snow from the trees.  Beside him, Cyborg’s cannon whirred as it fired up, and Batman shrugged off his thick coat as he stood, revealing his armoured uniform, and a cloak that spilled from his shoulders.  Kid Flash raced to Batman’s side in a golden blur.

               Raven swayed, a hand on Beast Boy’s shoulder, head snapping from side-to-side.  ‘Where are they?’

               Another gunshot fired and Raven whirled, flinging an arm up.  The bullet cracked against another black shield at Starfire’s back.  Starfire hissed, turning, searching for the shooter.

               And then they came.

               Swathes of people marched out of the trees, dark in their bulletproof armour, guns strapped across the shoulders.  And with sinking dread, Starfire recognised their uniforms.  The same uniforms that’d marched around fenced-off cabins in the woods, for miles and miles through the mountains.

               Guards.

               Guards, raising their guns, ready to fire again—

               But Kid Flash moved first.

               He was little more than a streak—a flash of gold lightning.  They yelped and snarled as he tore through them, and before Starfire could blink Kid Flash had whipped round the whole circle, ripping their guns from their hands and throwing them down.

               But another line of guards came in behind them, and another, filling the edges of the clearing like black tar seeping across the snow.

               Cyborg’s laser cannon flashed, blasting a chunk of guards off their feet.  With a furious roar, Starfire surged forward, tossing starbolts one after the other.  Her vision glowed green and starbolts burst from her eyes, sweeping across the ranks of guards.  Kid Flash skidded to a halt at the edge of the starbolt beam, kicking up clouds of snow, then whipped round and ran back the other way.  At the corner of Starfire’s vision, Beast Boy ploughed through three rows of black armour, snarling and baring his sharp teeth.  The dark shape of Batman, flitted across the clearing hurling glittering black knives.

               ‘Stand your ground!’

               The call came from somewhere in the trees.  Somewhere _deep_ in the trees.  Starfire’s heart clenched.  How many were there?

               ‘Take aim!’

               She’d never seen so many guards before.  They swarmed out the woods like ants, snapping off shots at anyone who came close.  But plenty, even in that front line, simply held their guns, glaring out across the clearing with loathing.  And then the reality of that last order hit Starfire.

               They weren’t even firing yet.

               And when they did … all of them, all at once …

               She imagined a bloody streak on the snow.  Nothing left but fragments of bones and tatters of goose down coats.

               A dark shape rose into the air beside her.  Raven.  Her shoulders sagged, her face haggard.  ‘Everyone needs to pull back,’ she croaked.  ‘Right _now_.’

               More uniforms piled out from deep within the trees.  Too deep for Starfire to fathom how many there were.

               ‘Everybody!’ Starfire bellowed.  ‘Pull back!’

               Batman was below her in an instant; Cyborg a moment later.  Then Kid Flash whipped in close, dragging a snarling Beast Boy by the scruff of the neck behind him.

               ‘Fire!’

               Raven spread her palms, and her shield expanded, sweeping round them all in a wide, black dome.  Bullets pounded against it, sending white ripples flashing across its surface.

               ‘Keep firing!’ a voice bellowed, over the gunfire.  ‘She can’t keep that shield up forever!’

               Normally, Starfire would’ve laughed.  She’d have said a shield was the least of their worries.  Raven could swallow every man and woman up in a pool of shadows and send them through tunnels of nightmares before she spat them out again.  By the time Raven was done with them, these guards wouldn’t know what a gun _looked_ like.

               But right now, Raven’s outstretched arms were sagging, and she was drifting down through the air.  She was shivering.  Miserable.  Exhausted.

               Starfire turned on the spot, tracking one guard’s face after another.

               _They’re the same guards._

               She dropped, landing in the snow just as Raven sank to the ground beside her.

               They weren’t just the same uniforms.  They were the same _people_.  The people Starfire had fought or slipped past to rescue omegas.  Omegas _they_ were supposed to be guarding.

               No wonder they hated her.  She’d taken their omegas from them.  She’d _beaten_ them.

               And of course, all these guards hadn’t stuck around to patrol empty houses.  They’d moved.  Moved to protect a new omega.

               Which meant …

               _Robin._

               He was here.  He was _close_.

               All this protection wasn’t for nothing.  The gleam in the woods flashed back into Starfire’s head.  A fence, maybe.  That was what Wally said.

               That was it.  That was where they were keeping Robin.

               Her heart surged.  She gripped Raven’s arm.  ‘Raven!  Read my mind.  Look at the place I am thinking of.’

               ‘Star …’ Raven groaned, hands shaking.

               ‘ _Please_ , Raven.  Quickly!’

               Raven closed her eyes.  Through gritted teeth, she muttered, ‘Azerath.  Metrion.  Zinthos …’

               The last word came out as a whisper.  When Raven opened her eyes, they were black from corner to corner.  Starfire thought of that place in the woods.  Pictured it in her mind, as clear and detailed as if she was staring at a photo.  The snow on the trees.  The grey tumbling rocks.  That tiny gleam of sunlight reflecting on metal.  It was so close.  So, _so close_.

               ‘Do you see it?’

               Raven nodded.  ‘I see it.’

               ‘Can you take us there?’

               Legs trembling, sweat beading her forehead, Raven nodded.  ‘Hold on.’

               She took a breath.  Another.  Deeper.  Deeper.

               Black tendrils spread beneath their feet.

               Raven held her breath for a second.  Two.  Three.  Starfire swallowed, glancing round her friends.  They surrounded Raven, Beast Boy’s teeth bared, Cyborg’s cannon ready.

               The shield dropped.

               And the world went black.

               A minute of crushing, deep-water cold and darkness.  Starfire’s chest tightened, and gravity flipped around her, and she was simultaneously falling and flying and being dragged backwards.

               Sunlight broke through the dark.

               Starfire gasped.  They were deep in the woods.  Snow piled up in heaps around the bases of the trees, and the sun filtered through pine needles, soft and flickering.  No sign of a fence, or people.

               Raven’s hand landed on her shoulder, and Starfire caught her as she stumbled.

               ‘Sorry,’ Raven murmured.  ‘I couldn’t …’

               Starfire hooked her arm under Raven’s, and helped her to the ground.

               ‘It was too far,’ Raven muttered.  ‘I couldn’t get us the whole way.’

               Looking up into the quiet trees, Starfire breathed a sigh.  ‘It is OK.’

               ‘Quick thinking is what it was!’  Wally squatted and gave Raven a friendly punch on the shoulder.  ‘Nice work.  We’d be shot to ribbons if not for you.’

               Batman turned, cloak sweeping around him.  ‘We still will be, if we don’t keep moving.  Those men aren’t going to sit around and wait for us to come back.’

               Starfire gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to swing a less friendly punch up at him.  Couldn’t he tell Raven was exhausted?  She couldn’t keep going.  _None_ of them could keep going.  They’d walked all night to escape that snowstorm, and now …

               But she saw the lines around Batman’s mouth.  The shadows under his eyes, not quite covered by the cowl.

               He was as tired and worried as the rest of them.

               ‘All right,’ she murmured.  ‘Here, Raven.  I will carry you.’

               ‘I’ll do it,’ Cyborg put in.  ‘I’ve been on power savings since yesterday.  I’m barely tired.’  He scooped Raven up before she or Starfire could protest.  ‘Besides, you and BB should fly overhead.  See if you can spot anything.’

               The polar bear at Cyborg’s side transformed back into Beast Boy, who yawned enormously.  ‘You go first, Star.  I gotta crash.’

               ‘I’ll run ahead, too.  See what I can find.’  Wally gave Starfire a wink, Batman a salute, and then zipped off through the trees.

               Nodding, Starfire reached inside her for whatever scraps of energy were left, and lifted up into the air.  Behind her, she heard Cyborg and Beast Boy bickering—

               ‘Man, how can you _sleep_ at a time like this?  We were just getting shot at!’

               ‘Hey, not all of us can run on power saver mode.  I’m _tired._ ’

               ‘ _Boys,_ ’ Batman snapped.

               —before Beast Boy transformed into a mouse, and hopped up into Raven’s hood to nap, and Starfire floated up and out of earshot.


	41. Chapter 41

Slade was like a caged animal.

               He prowled up and down the house, jaw clenched, fists tight, snarling at anyone who came near.  The guards learned to give their reports from out of arm’s reach, so Slade couldn’t grab them and bellow in their faces.  Or worse, throw a punch.

               It happened again in the early afternoon, when one of the guards dared to slip in the door rather than ringing the bell.  Dick, curled on the sofa with his book, look up with a jolt.  But when he saw the uniform, he relaxed.  And then, when he recognised the face, he actually smiled.

               It was the guard he’d spoken to, months ago, through the fence.  The fried egg, chilli, chutney sandwich guard.  Same broad nose, and ginger moustache.  Alf.

               ‘Hi.’ Dick closed his book and set it down.  ‘Slade’s in the bathroom.  He’ll be right out.’

               As if on cue, the door opened upstairs.

               Alf nodded.  ‘Sure.  How you doing, kid?’

               Dick didn’t get to respond, because a grey blur thundered down the stairs, swept over the banister, and slammed a punch into Alf’s face.

               Alf fell back with a grunt, clutching his nose.

               ‘Slade!’  Dick shot to his feet.

               Slade stood over Alf, snarling, and didn’t stop until Alf scrambled back and staggered to his feet, clinging to the front door for support.

               ‘Slade!’ Dick snapped.  ‘He’s one of our _guards_.’

               ‘Then he should wait by the door.’  Slade growled.  ‘He shouldn’t be anywhere near you.  _No one_ should be near you.’

               Dick’s chest constricted.  ‘Slade …’

               But Alf held up a hand, panting and red-faced.  ‘No, no, it’s all right.  Territorial alpha.  Pregnant omega.  I get it.’  Although his tone was even and placating, Dick could see the whites all the way round his eyes.  ‘Just came to tell you no change, sir.  Perimeters are fine.’

               Slade bared his teeth.  ‘Then get back out there and keep them that way.’

               Alf nodded, saluted, and turned away, all in one smooth motion—and all without daring to glance Dick’s way.  Slade slammed the door behind him.

               Dick scowled.  ‘You didn’t have to do that—’

               But Slade was at his side immediately, kissing him, running his hands up and down Dick’s arms.  ‘My omega,’ he murmured, as though to himself.  ‘You’re _mine_.’

               ‘I know that.’  Dick tilted his head, letting Slade trace licks and kisses and nips up the side of his neck.  ‘ _They_ know that.’  He drew back.  ‘Slade, they’re our _guards_.  They’re doing everything they—’

               He stopped, gasping.  That was … that felt like …

               He pressed a hand to his stomach.  ‘ _Oh._ ’

               Slade pulled away, his single eye narrowed.  ‘What is it?’

               ‘Nothing, just—’  Dick felt it again, and flinched.  He looked up at Slade, and slowly, a smile spread over his face.  ‘I think … I think the baby’s kicking.’

               There it was again.  A flutter in his belly, followed by a swift, sharp jab.  Dick laughed, pressing both palms against his stomach.  Slade stared, lips parted, angry flush fading from his face.

               Dick took his wrist pulled him in, pressing Slade’s palm against his belly.  ‘Here, feel.’

               Almost the instant Slade touched him, the baby kicked.

               Slade’s eye widened.  He pushed Dick’s shirt up and spread both his palms across Dick’s bare skin, lips twitching into that thin, sardonic smile.  ‘I think he has my right hook.’

               Dick snorted.  ‘If that was true, I don’t think he’d still be in there.’  He hesitated.  ‘So you’re hoping for a boy?’

               A shrug, and Slade shook his head, as if to say it didn’t matter

               Dick sighed, closing his eyes and resting his hands over Slade’s.  Their baby.  Their little Tadpole.  He imagined a little boy with Slade’s pale hair, toddling around the house on pudgy legs, smiling with pearly baby teeth.

               Dick flashed through a dozen happy fantasies.  Buckets and spades on the beach at Jump.  Crisp autumn walks in Gotham, stomping on crunchy leaves in the park.  Holding the boy’s hand, when he was a little older, and teaching him to balance on the slackline.  To do his first backflip on the crashmat.  To swing on the hoops.  Teaching him to read.

               Once, when Dick was eight years old, nightmares dove him out of bed.  He padded into the library at Wayne Manor, and found Bruce curled next to a blazing fire, reading.  Bruce looked up over the book, and his eyes flicked straight to Dick’s, and Dick’s gut tightened, because he didn’t want to tell him.  He didn’t want to describe seeing his parents fall from the tight rope, over and over and over, every time he closed his eyes.

               But Bruce just waved him over, and said softly, ‘Have you ever read _The Hound of the Baskervilles_?’  And when Dick shook his head, Bruce flipped his book to the front page, murmuring, ‘It’s a good one.  You should listen.’  He budged up in the enormous armchair, making just enough room for a skinny eight year old to squash in beside him.  ‘Come sit down.’

               Dick still read _Sherlock Holmes_ in Bruce’s low, soft voice, every time he read those stories.  And the thought of squashing in that armchair again, with his own son, beside a roaring fire—or maybe walking into the library and finding his son already there, curled up with Bruce reading to him—spread warmth through his chest.

               ‘I can’t wait to tell Bruce,’ he whispered.

               For a moment, Slade was silent.  Then—

               ‘What did you say?’

               Dick straightened, eyes snapping open.  ‘I just—’  Slade glared down at him, cold as stone.  ‘I just mean—after the baby’s born—’

               ‘Bruce,’ Slade hissed, ‘is not your alpha.’

               His face was bone-white, his lips peeling back in a snarl.

               Dick winced.  He took a step back, letting Slade’s hands fall off his stomach, and smoothed his t-shirt back down.  ‘I know.  Of course he isn’t.  But—’

               ‘But you wish he was.’  Slade stalked closer, single eye dark.  ‘You wish he’d taken you, instead of me.’

               Dick’s heart thudded.  ‘That’s insane.  Bruce is my _dad_.’

               ‘Liar,’ Slade snarled.  ‘You know he put his name in to have you.  He _wanted_ you.’

               Dick’s back hit the wall, and Slade kept coming, crowding him in.  ‘He wanted to protect me.’  Dick put his hands on Slade’s chest as he pressed in closer.  ‘Slade, what the hell.  You’re acting crazy.  Back off.’

               Slade let out a loud, low sound, like a wolf about to tear into someone’s throat.  Dick shrank against the wall, one arm curled around his belly as Tadpole kicked again, swift and sharp.  And instead of backing off, Slade slammed a hand around Dick’s throat, fingers digging into the long-healed scars.

               ‘You’re _mine_ , Dick.  No one else can have you.  No one else can touch you.  No one else can _look at you_.  And if they do, you’ll regret it.’

               And Dick wanted so, so badly to lift his chin.  Bear his throat.  Whisper, ‘I know’ and ‘OK’, and whimper and touch Slade’s hand softly, so softly, until he calmed down.

               But then Tadpole kicked again.

               And it wasn’t just _him_ Slade was threatening.

               Dick lowered his head.  ‘Go to hell.’

               And he slammed a punch into Slade’s ribs.

               Slade staggered back with a hiss.  Dick shook out his aching fist.  Because shit, how long had it been since he fought back?  _Really_ fought back?

               ‘Stay back.’  He kept his voice quiet.  ‘I mean it.’

               But when Slade looked up, his face was remote.  Cold as winter.  ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

               He swept in again, and Dick snapped out a kick.  Slade shot back at the last second, and Dick’s heel just barely clipped his shoulder, rather than crunching into his jaw.  Snarling, Dick raised his arm and swung a punch.  Another.  Another.  Slade knocked them aside, his white face darkening.  When Dick kicked out again, , Slade lifted his own foot, hooked his toes under Dick’s ankle, and jerked him off-balance.

               Dick tumbled with a yelp, arms flailing.  He landed on his back, and the wind huffed out of him.  He gasped, chest as tight as if he were pinned under a mountain.  Curling his knees, he tried to pull himself up.

               Slade caught his ankle, and dragged him back.

               For an instant—just a flash—he was somewhere else.  On his belly, not on his back.  Gears grinding overhead.  Dust swirling as Slade dragged him across the floor, bruised and aching.  _‘You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.’_

               And then Slade’s weight settled over his thighs, and Slade’s hand curled in Dick’s hair, wrenching his head back.  And Dick just managed to gasp before Slade curled over him, and bit down on his throat.

               It was worse than he remembered.  Dick screamed and thrashed, red-hot pain tearing into his skin.  He beat at Slade’s shoulders; slammed punches into Slade’s gut; clawed his nails down the sides of Slade’s face.  Slade only snarled, and bit down harder.  Dick kicked.  Hit nothing.  Thumped his fist on the floor.  Gritted his teeth, tears pricking his eyes, instincts screaming at him to go slack.

               A sob burst out of Dick’s chest, and then he whined, long and high and desperate.  ‘Slade …’  His voice shook.  ‘Slade … please …’

               One more snarl, and Slade’s bite tightened, and Dick whined again, the most submissive sound he could summon.  And finally, agonisingly, Slade loosened his jaw and lifted his head.  Dick whimpered as cool air hit his mutilated skin, stinging like broken glass ground into the wound.  Slade reared up, chest heaving as he gasped.  Blood stained his beard; glimmered on his lips; dripped off his chin.

               ‘All this time—’ Slade’s voice was low and hoarse, ‘—I thought you’d learned to behave.  I thought you’d learned your place.’

               Dick brought a shaking hand up over his throat, palm hovering an inch away, not quite daring to touch it.  He sobbed, trembling, heart thundering.

               Slade wiped his mouth on his arm, smearing blood on his sleeve.  ‘I suppose I’ll have to teach you again.’

               His weight shifted down Dick’s legs, and for a moment Dick closed his eyes, letting his head thump back against the floor.  It was over.  He’d fucked up.  He’d fucked up _bad_ , but it was over.

               And then Slade’s fingers curled into the waistband of Dick’s jeans.

               Dick’s heart stopped.  ‘No.’

               With a flick of his fingers, Slade loosed the buttons of Dick’s jeans.  He tugged them down an inch.

               Dick yelped.  ‘Stop it!  Slade—stop—’  He sat up, reaching for Slade’s hands, but Slade planted a hand on Dick’s throat, and shoved him down.

               His fingers dug into the fresh bite, and Dick’s vision blurred.  He tried to cry out, but his tongue was a dry lump of clay, his throat parched and mute.  He barely felt Slade wrench his jeans the rest of the way off.  Sparks buzzed and flared in his vision.

               ‘You are going to learn, Dick.’  Slade’s weight lifted off him, just for a moment.  ‘One way or another, however long it takes.  However many bites it takes.  You.  Are.  _Mine._ ’

 _I know._   Dick tried to force the words up through his throat.  He wheezed.  _I know.  You don’t have to—you don’t have to make me—_

               Slade thrust Dick’s knees apart.  His fingers tightened on Dick’s throat, his weight crushing Dick’s neck.  Dick choked, fingers shaking as he curled them around Slade’s wrist.  Slade bared his teeth, single eye blazing—and— _and—_

               Dick would’ve screamed, if he could get any air in his lungs.

               Slade snapped his hips and it _burned_ , and Dick ached, and he couldn’t breathe and the room was spinning, stars bursting in his vision, and Slade’s hand was still round his throat—

               He wormed his fingers under Slade’s.  Slade tightened his grip.  Thrust again.  Again.  Slamming deep into Dick’s body.  Lungs burning, Dick stared up into Slade’s face, wild-eyed.  He’d let go.  Any second now.  He’d let go.  Clouds crackled at the edges of Dick’s eyes.  Slade wouldn’t choke him to death.  Wouldn’t hurt him— _really_ hurt him.  Wouldn’t risk Tadpole.

               He just—

               He just had to submit—

               Just had to do what his alpha wanted—

               Dick’s fingers went numb.  Slade kept moving, sweat dripping down his nose, but Dick didn’t feel the next thrust, or the next.  He was drowning.  Back in that bathtub on that first night, in a too-white hotel room, naked and scared, only this time Slade had pushed his head underwater and all he could see was colours and ripples—

               And black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, STILL not the big confrontation yet. BUT ... all things going according to keikaku, the biggun' will be here on Thursday. :D
> 
> GAHI'MSOEXCITEDOHMYGOSH


	42. Chapter 42

Slade’s breathing.  Skin slapping on skin.  A distant rumble, like an earthquake or an avalanche or the groaning of the sea around Titan’s Tower at night.  And somewhere, far away, sharp cracks like fireworks.

               Dick blinked, rolling his head from side-to-side.  His throat throbbed.  His fingers were numb.

               _I passed out._

               He groaned.  Rolled onto his side, cradling his bloody throat.  He _hurt_.  Hurt like he hadn’t ever before.  Not even … not even that first night, in the hotel room, when he’d cried and begged Slade not to … not to …

               _Do this._

               Hands shaking, Dick pushed himself up.  He fumbled for his jeans, and when he tried to stand, the room whirled and he slumped back down.  And looked up.

               Slade loomed in the doorway.  He’d straightened his clothes, but his hair was still wild, sweat shining on his forehead.  His fingers curled into fists at his sides.  Uncurled.  Curled.

               And he stared and stared and stared at Dick, his face slowly draining from scarlet to pink to grey.  ‘You made me,’ he croaked, and didn’t sound like even he believed it.

               Dick wound his arms around his belly.  Around Tadpole.  The fall … the suffocating…

                 _Please be OK.  Please, Tadpole._

               Slade’s eye slipped down from Dick’s face to his stomach.  His shoulders heaved—up and down, up and down—as he breathed.

               Then he turned, and slammed his fist into the wall with a scream.

               Dick scrambled back.  He fumbled at the edge of the sofa, and dragged himself up.  But Slade didn’t come at him.  He marched away down the corridor, his shadow hulking over the wall.  As Dick stumbled back into his jeans, something smashed.

               Falling back on the sofa, Dick curled his knees up as far as his swollen belly allowed, lowered his head and tried and _tried_ not to sob.  He drew his hands up over his head.  He couldn’t breathe.

               _He nearly killed me._

               Dick’s hands shook.

               _He could have killed Tadpole._

               He curled his fingers into his hair.

               _And he didn’t … he didn’t stop._

               The hot, tight ache between his legs made that painfully clear.  That, and the warm damp spreading through his jeans.  Dick’s stomach heaved.  He slapped a hand against his mouth, swallowing bile.

               It wasn’t safe here.  Not for him.  Not for Tadpole.

               _Slade_ wasn’t safe.

               Somewhere outside, fireworks cracked through the mountains.

               Dick shook himself.  No.  Not fireworks.

               _Starfire._

               He clutched his stomach.  If … if she had the virus …

               But if he stayed with Slade …

               ‘Dick—’  Slade strode back into the room, and Dick lowered his arms.  Slade dropped at Dick’s feet, knees thudding on the wooden floor.  ‘Dick, I—’

               Slade reached up for him, and Dick flinched.

               Slade held still for an instant, lips thin and pale.  Then, slowly, he withdrew his hand.  He set it down on the edge of the sofa, near Dick’s foot.  Near, but not touching.

               Dick licked his lips.  ‘Shower.’

               It barely sounded like a word.  It crackled out his mouth like autumn leaves crunching underfoot.  And it hurt.  It hurt like forcing broken glass up through his throat.

               Slade nodded, his single eye tight.  ‘OK.  Come on.’

               He held out his hand, and Dick didn’t move, heart thudding in his throat.  He tensed as Slade leaned in closer, and alpha scent hit him like a wall, but Slade only took Dick’s hand and pulled him up.

               Dick stumbled upstairs, through the bedroom and to the bathroom door, skin crawling at Slade’s hot, damp grip around his fingers.

               He pulled up short as Slade opened the bathroom door.  When Dick drew his hand out of Slade’s, Slade didn’t tighten his grip, or try to stop him.  He just turned, face drawn and white.

               ‘Can I … be alone?’  Dick swallowed, his voice dry as straw.  ‘Please.’

               Slade hesitated—then nodded.  ‘I’ll fix up that bite when you’re done.’

_That bite you gave me._   Dick shuddered.

               He slipped into the bathroom, closed the door behind him, and sank against the sink.  His arms shook, stomach turning.

               A deep breath.  Another.

_Not safe here._

               He stripped mechanically, stepped into the shower and turned on the hot spray.  It tore through his bloody throat like razors, and Dick bit his tongue and swallowed a scream.

               If he wasn’t safe with Slade …

               If _Tadpole_ wasn’t safe with Slade …

               Clarity pierced through the pain, and the shaking limbs, and the rolling of his stomach.

_‘If you were doing all this for me, to_ _protect_ _me, you wouldn’t have raped me.  You would have got me out of here.  You’d have taken me to my friends.  You wouldn’t_ _keep_ _me, like a goddamn_ _pet_ _.’_

               He’d said it months ago.  A lifetime ago.

               He stumbled out the shower.  Reached for his filthy clothes, bile rising in his throat.  But he had to go now.  Move fast.  While those flickering starbolts were close.  While he had a chance.

               Before he could change his mind.

               He picked a ceramic soap dish off the side of the sink.  It wasn’t much.  But it was heavy.

               Leaning his back against the wall beside the door, Dick cleared his throat with a painful cough, and called, ‘Slade?’

               The door opened instantly, as though Slade had been waiting with his fingers on the handle.  He stepped inside, single eye flicking across the room and straight to Dick—

               Who swung the soap dish overarm, and smashed it into Slade’s head.

               Slade staggered, snarling in pain.  Dick ducked past him, through the door, and slammed it shut behind him.  Then he reached for the wardrobe—Slade’s wardrobe—curled his fingers around its edge, and hauled it down.

               The floorboards shook as it crashed over the bathroom door.  Slade’s cry rang out on the other side, and the door rattled as he slammed against it.

               ‘Dick!  Open this door!’  Another slam.  ‘ _Dick!_ ’

               Dick ran.

               He tore down the stairs, wrenched on his shoes and coat, and fled out the house.

               Snow crunched underfoot as he raced down the road between the trees.  Dick’s heart thundered, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.  Blood trailed down his throat, his torn skin throbbing.  He gritted his teeth, and tugged his collar up to his chin. 

               The chain link fence glittered up ahead, and his chest tightened —the mating bond, calling him back.

_Not this time._

               The guards at the fence turned as he approached.  His mind whirled for half a second—

               —C _an’t fight my way out, not with Tadpole, have to convince them, have to make them let me out—_

_—_ and then focused.

               Dick slammed into the fence, pounding on it with open palms.  ‘Let me out!’  He didn’t have to fake the sob, or the panic in his voice.  ‘They’re in here!  The Titans are in here, _let me out!_ ’

               The guards didn’t move, and Dick’s breath caught in his throat.  Then a familiar face pushed through.  A familiar face with a fresh black eye.

               Alf wrenched the lever to open the gate.  ‘Back off!  Let him out!’

               The gate rolled aside, and Dick slipped out, then pounced on the lever and heaved it back the other way.  The gate squealed, gears crunching, and for a moment Dick thought he’d damaged it.  Then, with a groan, it then rolled back the other way, and slammed closed.

               ‘Woah, woah, kid.’  Alf caught Dick’s arm.  ‘You OK?’  When Dick whirled on him, he stepped back, eyebrows raised.  ‘Shit, kid.  Where’s Mr Wilson?  Where’s Slade?’

               Dick shook his head.

_Not safe with Slade._

               He tugged his arm out of Alf’s grip.  Stepped back.

               And ran into the woods.

               The guards shouted behind him, their voices echoing dully through the trees.  But none of them raised their guns.  They’d learned, since last time.

               And this time, Dick knew not to follow the road.  Not to make it easy for Slade to chase him.  He ploughed through knee-deep snow, gasping for air, groping through the trees. 

               Footsteps thundered behind, guards shouting his name.

               ‘Richard!  Richard, come back!  It isn’t safe!’

               Dick put his head down and marched on.

               He stumbled into a valley in the snow—a track made by deer, or some other animal—and turned to follow their twisting path.  It would cover his own movements; make it harder for the guards to follow him.  And without the snow dragging on his jeans, it was easier to run.  He raced through the trees, trying to head uphill, into the mountains.  Trying to remember which direction he’d seen those starbolts.  He should’ve taken a radio.  If Starfire was nearby, Cyborg was nearby, and Cyborg could’ve picked him up on the radio.  He cursed, and kept running.

               He was soaked to the hips, hands burning with cold, lungs aching with each breath of knife-sharp cold air.  And his chest grew tighter.  Tighter.  _Tigher._

               Go back.  Go _back.  Gobackgobackgoback._

               Dick sobbed, and stumbled out of the trees.

               And saw the cliff a moment too late.

               He shrieked, feet slipping on ice.  His stomach swooped, the ground gaping in front of him like an open mouth.  He flung his arm up, a desperate, flailing attempt to grab something—anything—

               His fist closed around a branch.

               Fingers burning, he hauled himself back.  He couldn’t breathe.  His legs shook.  He hurt.  His throat hurt and his chest hurt and his _heart_ —

               ‘Robin?’

               Her voice was soft as sunlight melting snow.

               Dick looked up, heart thumping in his throat.  Looked up at golden skin, and warm green eyes, and a smile like sunshine breaking through clouds.

               Starfire floated down, her toes lighting on the edge of the cliff.  ‘Robin.  It’s me.’

               Dick’s vision blurred.  He reached up and scrubbed the tears away, because he couldn’t let her disappear.  She was real.  She was really here.  ‘Star …’

               She stepped closer.

               And cold snapped through Dick.

_Tadpole._

               ‘Wait!’  He wrapped an arm around his stomach.  ‘Stay back!’

               Starfire froze.  Her eyes flicked down to Dick’s stomach.  Back up.

               And her face went grey as the mountainside.

               ‘No.’  It was a whisper, barely louder than the wind hushing through the trees.  She shook her head, face twisting in pain.  ‘Robin—I am so sorry—’

               ‘It’s OK.’  The words came out easy.  Too easy.  Because she was here now.  And because she was here, it _was_ OK.  Or it was going to be.  ‘I just—it’s just—the virus—’

               ‘I know.’  Her voice cracked.  She didn’t step any closer.

_She’s infected._

               Something stabbed into Dick’s chest, and for a moment he thought it was the mating bond, punishing him for dragging himself so far from Slade.  But then he saw the tear trail down Starfire’s face, and her hand come up to cover her mouth, and the pain dug deeper.  And it felt like the only way to stop it was to run straight at her.  To hold her.  To feel her warmth against his skin.

               But—

_Not safe._

               Not safe with Slade.  Not safe with Starfire.

               He sagged against the tree.  He had to go somewhere.  _Anywhere._   Had to find someplace it was safe.  And that meant he had to move, but he couldn’t.  He couldn’t stop staring at Starfire.  Couldn’t stop longing to drag her into a hug, to stop her crying, to feel her arms safe around him.

               He didn’t hear the footsteps in the woods.  Didn’t notice the growls and snarls and panting breath.  Didn’t feel the tightness in his chest gradually ease.

               Not until Slade burst out the woods, and smashed her down.


	43. Chapter 43

Starfire fell back into the snow with barely a sound, but Dick’s scream echoed off the mountains.

               He lunged, feet sliding on ice, chest a tight, painful knot.  Before he could reach Slade, Starfire shot back up, eyes aglow, starbolts streaming from her fists.  She swung a punch, knuckles cracking into Slade’s jaw with a sound like breaking branches.  Slade staggered back, and then back further as Starfire shot into the air, throwing starbolts like hail.

               Dick lurched away, heart thumping in his throat.  He couldn’t remember Starfire like this.  Snarling, white-faced, teeth bared.  _Alpha._

               Slade ducked into the trees, disappearing into shadow as starbolts tore through pine needles, blasting craters through the forest.  Dick held his breath.  Scanned the trees.  Because no way was Slade gone.  He was waiting, biding his time, and—

               ‘Star!’ Dick bellowed.

               She saw it the same moment he did: a silver flash whistling up through the trees.  Starfire shot up into the air, and the shape whistled past her—

               Before exploding, somewhere over the cliff.

               The ground trembled.  Heat blasted through the cold air.  Somewhere, far over the cliff, something groaned.  Ice maybe, or rock.

               Another flash from the trees.  Another explosive.

               Starfire didn’t dodge this one.  She flew straight at it, whistling through the air like a torpedo.  At the last second, she slipped aside, letting the explosive sing past her, and then she followed its path down—into the trees.

               Dead silence.  The trees rustled, wind hissing through the branches.  Overhead, the explosive tumbled, arcing down over the cliff and out of sight.

               It went off with an earth-shattering crash.  Dick lurched for the trees as the ground shook, ice groaning as it split.  His fingers slipped short.  And then—

               Then he was falling backwards.

               It made no sense.  He was still on his feet, not moving, and yet the trees slid further and further away, retreating even as he lunged to grab them.  Green lights burst between the branches.  Then gunfire.  A scream.  And trees fell away and fell away—

               Dick gasped—

               ‘Starfire!’

               And then he saw the cracks in the ice.

               The trees weren’t moving away.

               The ground was falling back.

               Dick’s stomach lurched.  Slade’s explosive had shattered the ground beneath the cliff, and now the block of ice and rock under Dick’s feet was breaking away, groaning as it toppled backwards and down—

               He shrieked, feet skidding as he scrambled towards the trees.  Towards the growing, gaping crack in the cliff, separating him from solid earth.  Any moment now, Starfire would burst out the forest.  Any moment—any moment—

               But the forest remained dark and silent, and Dick’s toes slipped at the edge of the crack.  He launched into the air.  It was nothing.  Just a jump.  Just a little jump, the way he used to jump between dark alleys in Gotham, between glittering skyscrapers in Jump City.

               Except in Gotham and Jump, the buildings didn’t crumble mid-leap.

               The cliff edge trembled, and another slab broke away.

               The ground opened up beneath him.

               Dick’s breath stuck, and he wasn’t going to make it.  His fingers barely scraped the edge of the cliff, and then he was falling.  Tumbling.  Wind rushing, heart stopping.  And this was going to hurt.  This was going to hurt so bad.  If he felt it at all.

               A shadow thumped into him.

               Dick gasped, and his stomach flipped again as he shot back _up_ in the air, an arm tight around his ribs.  The broken cliff smashed far below, and he didn’t see it because he was suddenly on solid ground, knee-deep in snow and gasping, clinging—clinging to—

               He saw the mask, his knees turned to water.  ‘Batman?’

               ‘Robin.’  Beneath the cowl, Bruce’s face was grey.  His cheeks were thin, like he hadn’t eaten enough lately, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.  Not sleeping enough, either.  He grabbed Dick by the shoulders and stared like he’d never see him again.

               Then he dragged Dick into a hug.

               Dick choked.  Bruce’s stubble scratched his cheek, and his armour dug into Dick’s belly, and he stank of sweat and old leather.  And Dick tried to say something.  To say _thank you_ , or _I’m so glad to see you_ , or _I’m OK_.  But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a bubble of mad, hysterical laughter.  He curled his arms over Bruce’s shoulders and gripped him, and his vision blurred, and he shook and sobbed and laughed.

               Bruce was here.  Batman.  _Dad._

               The days in a white cell, the terror when Slade claimed him, the months and months trapped behind a twisting silver fence.  All melted away.  He was safe.  He was _home_.

               Bruce pulled back, pressing his hands either side of Dick’s head.  ‘Everything going to be OK.  We’re going to—’

               The gunshot split Dick’s heart in two.

               Bruce’s head snapped back.  Blood sprayed, landing hot on Dick’s face.  Bruce stumbled, and then his legs buckled and he tumbled back—and back—and back—

               And over the cliff.

               Dick screamed.

               He lurched for the cliffs, because Bruce wouldn’t fall.  He wouldn’t.  He’d fire his grapple, and he’d hang there, and he’d need help.  He wouldn’t fall.  He wouldn’t.

               A hand closed around Dick’s wrist, yanking him back.  Dick whirled.

               Slade glared down at him, teeth bared, eyes wild.  The pistol smoked in his other hand.  ‘No one else can have you.’  His grip on Dick’s wrist tightened, until Dick groaned, curling inwards around the pain.  ‘You.’  Slade tugged him in.  ‘Are.’  He threw the gun down in the snow; grabbed a fistful of Dick’s hair.  ‘ _Mine._ ’

               He yanked Dick up into a kiss, teeth clashing.

               Then he turned, and dragged Dick away.

               Dick screeched and wailed and kicked, clawing at Slade’s fingers.  ‘Let me go!  Batman!  Starfire!  _Starfire!_ ’

               No one answered.  Legs buckling, heart crumbling, Dick sobbed and stumbled and dragged his heels, and Slade drew him step by aching, miserable, agonising step through the snow.

               The trees thinned, and sunlight pierced Dick’s eyes, and he barely saw the car before Slade wrenched the door open and shoved him inside.

               Dick slammed against the door, tugging at the handle.  It didn’t budge.  ‘Slade!’  Dick rammed his shoulder into the door, yelping as pain seared up into his neck.  ‘Slade, let me out!  Let me go!  LET ME GO!’

               Slade leaped over the hood and opened the driver’s side door.  Dick lunged, but Slade swung inside before he could escape, grabbed Dick by the throat, and slammed him back.  Dick’s head cracked against the window.  He tried to scream, but Slade’s fingers dug into his throat, piercing into bruises already layered there.  Into the bite.

               Dick’s head whirled.  He slumped.

               _Do what alpha wants, do what alpha wants, DO WHAT ALPHA WANTS._

               ‘I hurt you once today,’ Slade hissed.  ‘I don’t want to do it again.’

               He wrenched his hand away.  Dick spluttered, bending over and gasping for breath.  Slade turned to the wheel, and car rumbled to life.

               And tore away.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people!
> 
> Just to warn you, horrible old Real Life has coming a-knockin' and may interfere with updates over the next week or so (nothing to worry about - just busyness with work and such that can't be avoided.) I'll try to get updates up on Sunday and Thursday as usual, but I wanted to give you all a heads up in case the next few chapters are a little delayed!
> 
> Sorryyyy! <3

Wally saw the gunshot from a mile away.  Literally.

               One minute, Robin was falling, and Wally gritted his teeth and ran and _ran_ , toes crunching in the snow, kicking up great plumes of powder behind him.  But he was too far away, and he’d never make it even at _his_ speed, and then—’

               Batman.

               Wally whooped, skidding to a halt as Batman’s tiny, dark figure swept over the cliff in the distance, scooping Robin up and swinging back up to safety on his grapple.  Wally bounced on his toes, laughing and cheering, knowing he was too far away for them to hear as Batman pulled Robin into a hug.  Raven and Cyborg and Beast Boy were back in the woods.  Starfire was somewhere near here.  Maybe Wally should go look for them.  Tell them the good news.  _We found him!  We’ve got him!_

               And then he saw the other figure step out the trees.

               ‘Oh no.’  Wally’s heart stopped.  He took off running.  ‘Oh no, no, _no, nononono!_ ’

               The gunshot felt like breaking a bone.

               Watching Batman tumble backward off the cliff was worse.

               Cursing, Wally put his head down and ran, and ran, and _ran_.  And he had to choose.  Had to choose now, choose fast.  If he ran to Robin, he could grab him.  Tear him away from Slade.  If he ran off the cliff, he could grab Batman.

               He couldn’t do both.

               ‘Shit, shit, _shit!_ ’

               _Batman was shot._

               With a cry, feeling like he was tearing his own arm off, Wally turned away from Dick and lunged over the cliff after Batman.  His feet slammed into the side of the rock, moving quick enough to propel himself forward faster than gravity could drag him down.  Batman grew larger and larger, his cloak flapping limp around him like broken wings.

               Wally bent his knees, and pushed off the rock.

               He slammed into Batman hard enough to make his bones rattle.  And usually, at this point, there was another building to crash into and run down.  Except not here.  Not in this stupid, goddamn, frozen hell.  Here, it was just open air.  And now they were both falling, Wally clinging to Batman, screaming—

               And Batman—

               Batman’s face was slack, his eyes unfocused, blood on his forehead.

               Wally’s heart thudded in his throat, and they were still falling, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t think—

               _Cape!_

               He grabbed the edge of Batman’s fluttering cloak.  With a desperate cry, he threw it out.

               One side flapped open, catching the air.  The other was stuck, tucked under Batman’s arm.  Wally yelped, stomach tumbling as he and Batman flipped in the air.  And they were still falling, spinning like maple seeds on their way down, and shit shit _shit_ , this was not how Wally wanted to die, and Batman still wasn’t moving—

               ‘Batman!’ he screamed.  ‘Batman, c’mon, for the love of—WAKE UP!’

               Somewhere, buried under the roaring air, Wally heard a hiss.  Batman jerked awake.

               And then threw his other arm out.

               His cape sprang out, fanning out behind them.  They jolted, and for an instant it felt like Batman was yanking Wally _up_ harder than the ground was pulling him down.  Wally’s shoulders wrenched, but he clung on, screaming—

               There was nowhere to land, so Wally just hung on tight, and braced himself s they crashed through the trees, and tumbled branch-by-painful-branch to the ground.

               Wally landed on his back with a groan.  Batman flopped beside him, limp and grey.

               Twigs and leaves crashed down through the trees, landing with soft thumps in the snow.  The trees swayed overhead, dancing back and forth, bumping around as if Wally and Batman were still tumbling through them.  Then, finally, gradually, they stilled.

               The forest went quiet.

               Wally tried to sit up, and immediately dropped back in the snow.

               It was hard to pinpoint where the pain was.  Just sort of.  Everywhere.

               He thumped his head back, shivering as cold wet trickled down the back of his neck.  He turned to look at Batman.  ‘You’d better be OK.  Because if you’re dead after all that, I’m gonna kill you.’

               Batman was quiet just long enough for Wally’s heart to skip.  Then he groaned, long and loud and very much alive.

               ‘Oh thank god,’ Wally breathed.

               And then he couldn’t do anything.  Couldn’t move.  Could barely breathe.  And he just lay there, staring up at the trees, willing his legs to shift.  Willing himself up, and not moving, because it felt like his bones had dissolved.

               A green flash dropped through the trees, landing with a soft thump in the snow beside him.  A tiny, beady-eyed bird.  Wally finally pushed himself up, groaning as every muscle in his body screamed in protest.  The little bird tilted its head, and turned into Beast Boy.

               ‘Holy cow, dude.  We just saw you fall like a hundred feet, and Starfire’s practically mincemeat back there.  Raven’s trying to heal her—she looks like she got in a fight with a _bear_.  What the heck _happened_?’

               Wally’s chest tightened.  ‘Wh-where’s Robin?’

               Beast Boy’s ears twitched.  ‘Robin … was here?’

               ‘He was right there.’  Wally got up, swaying.  ‘Right there, at the top of the cliff!  Didn’t you see him?’

               Beast Boy stared, his face going slowly grey.

               Wally lunged, grabbing Beast Boy by the shoulders.  ‘You must’ve seen him!  C’mon, BB, he was right there!  With your animal stuff—you must’ve—I don’t know—heard him or _smelled_ him or something!’

               Robin was there, _right there_ , and Wally could’ve reached him.  He could’ve grabbed Robin, except … except …

               He looked down at Batman.

               Batman, who pressed a hand to his bloody temple with a grimace, the colour draining from his face.

               Wally let his hands slip off Beast Boy’s shoulders.  ‘Batman got shot.’

               The words came out hollow.  His stomach sank, and suddenly it felt like lead, dragging him into the ground.  Batman got shot, and he made a decision.  And if he hadn’t, maybe …

               Maybe they’d have Robin.

               ‘ _Shot?_ ’  Beast Boy took a step back.  ‘Oh, jeez—I’ll go—I’ll get Raven.  Don’t move!’  He jumped into the air, turning into a bird of prey and disappearing into the trees.

               The forest went quiet again, and Wally’s ribs tightened, crushing his lungs, and he couldn’t breathe, and _shit_ , had he punctured a lung falling through those trees?  Shit, _shit._ He slumped in the snow beside Batman.  His hands were shaking.  When did his hands start shaking?

               ‘You OK?’ he asked, as Batman lay back in the snow with a grunt.

               Batman winced.  ‘I don’t die that easily.’

               ‘Easily?’  Wally tried for incredulous.  It came out numb.  ‘You were shot in the head.  Off a _cliff_.’

               ‘The bullet clipped me.’  Batman lifted his hand away from his head, looked at his bloody palm with detached interest, and then pressed it back to his skull.  ‘The armour in my cowl took the worst of it.’

               Wally snorted, but he couldn’t think of a pithy reply, and his chest hurt, and he just wanted to run back up that cliff, and not stop running until he got Robin back.  But he couldn’t get up, and on each inhale pain sawed through his ribs.  God, he hoped they weren’t broken.

               ‘I should’ve gone after Robin,’ he whispered.  ‘Shouldn’t I?’

               Batman sighed.  ‘I’d rather you saved Robin than me.’  He reached out to touch Wally’s foot.  ‘But you made a call.  And if our places were reversed, I’d have done the same.’

               Wally smiled weakly, and then Raven drifted down through the trees, landing soft as a snowflake as Batman’s side.  Her eyes were wide, her lips thin and pale.

               ‘Beast Boy said you were shot in the head.’

               Batman winced.  ‘He … wasn’t wrong.’

               He lifted his hand away, and Raven hissed, then swept in to lay her hands over him.  Her lips moved silently, chanting her usual mantra.  Her hands glowed, crystal-white, then purest black.

               ‘Where’s Robin?’ Batman said.

               Raven hesitated.  ‘Beast Boy’s tracking him.  With Cyborg and Starfire.’

               ‘You lost him?’  Batman’s voice was almost cold.

               ‘They’ll find him.’  Raven flexed her hands.  ‘You’re still bleeding.  Let me concentrate.’

               Batman fell silent.

               Raven’s her communicator rang.

               Raven twitched.  She yanked it off her belt and thrust it at Wally.  ‘Can you answer this?’

               He took it and staggered to his feet.  He stumbled away through the snow, trying to give Raven some space to work, before flipping it open.  ‘Hey, guys.  Raven’s busy.’

               Cyborg’s face loomed in the camera.  ‘You OK?’

               ‘Yeah, no problem.’  Wally forced a smile.  ‘You found Robin?’

               A moment’s hesitation.  Wally’s smile fell.  His heart thumped.

               ‘Yeah …’ Cyborg grimaced.  ‘And no.’

               ‘We found a road, and this car came, like, _tearing_ past us!’  Beast Boy’s face popped up in the corner of the screen.  ‘It was going, like, a million miles an hour and guess what?  It’s totally the same car from the CCTV tape.  Y’know, from the diner?’

               ‘Slade’s car?’  Wally straightened.  His ribs screamed.  He ignored them.  ‘I can outrun a car.  Which way?’

               ‘He is heading west, off the mountain.’  Starfire’s voice was quiet off-camera.  Cyborg turned the communicator, and—damn—Beast Boy was right.  She was scratched to hell, the right side of her face purple-black with bruises.  She leaned against a tree, like she could barely keep on her feet.  ‘I could not follow.  I am—I—Slade—’  She closed her eyes, shoulders hunching in pain or shame.

               ‘Don’t worry, Star,’ Wally said.  ‘We’ll catch him.’

               ‘Damn right we will.’  Cyborg tapped his temple—the robotic one—grinning gleefully.  ‘I stuck a tracker on him.’


	45. Chapter 45

The drive was agony.

               Dick’s throat seared, each thud of his heart sending fresh pain like into the mangled skin.  Like claws, tearing it open fresh.  Again.  Again.  He didn’t dare open his coat.  The inside of the collar was hot and sticky with blood.

               His legs throbbed and his head pounded, and his _heart—_

               _Bruce is dead._

               He curled his knees up, heels on the edge of his seat, and trembled as he sobbed himself dry.

_Bruce is dead, Bruce is dead, Bruce is dead—_

He could still feel the weight of Bruce’s hands on his shoulders; could still see that earnest look in his eyes.  That relief.

               Could still see Bruce’s head snap back before he tumbled off the cliff.

               His stomach heaved, and Dick covered his mouth and swallowed it down.  Because if he threw up right now, in here, with Slade …

               He shuddered.

               Slade’s face was cold as stone.  The speedometer crept around eighty, and Slade’s knuckles went white on the wheel, and wave after wave after wave of hot, ugly rage poured off him, filling the car like smoke.

               The sky darkened.  The sun set.  Flurries of snow swept past the dashboard.

               And Slade kept driving.

               Dick leaned his head on the window, feeling the car vibrate through his skull.  He closed his eyes but couldn’t sleep.

               The clock on the dashboard read 01:26AM when Slade said, ‘I’m going to pull over, and you’re going to _stay in that seat_.’

               Dick didn’t move.  Didn’t even lift his head.  As if he could do anything else, with his door locked and Slade blocking the other exit.

               Slade reached over, and gripped Dick’s knee, hard enough to send pulses of pain up through his leg.  ‘ _Aren’t you?_ ’

               Dick hissed.  ‘Yes!  Yes.  Fine.’

               Slade withdrew his hand.  The car slowed, and they rolled to the side of the road.  The tyres on Dick’s side crunched in layers of snow before they finally stopped.

               Slade turned the engine off.  Twisting in his seat, he reached into the back.  ‘Take off your coat.’

               Dick shivered, drawing it tighter around himself.  ‘Why?’  His voice came out tiny.  A feeble, broken whisper.

               ‘Because I told you to.’  Slade turned back with a first aid kit, and cracked it open, flicking on the ceiling light so he could rifle through the contents.  He drew out bandages, and antiseptic, and then reached back again for a bottle of water.

               Dick’s throat throbbed.

               ‘I’ll clean it,’ Dick said.  ‘I can do it—’

               Slade snarled.

               The sound rattled through Dick’s bones, loud and deep.  His chest tightened as if he’d taken a punch.  He shot back against the door, reaching instinctively for the handle.  Which, of course, did nothing.  So he lifted his fists, one high enough to protect his face, the other low enough to protect his belly.  ‘Stay back!’

               ‘You can’t fight me, Dick,’ Slade said, slow and even, just a touch of that snarl creeping back in at Dick’s name.  ‘You’re exhausted.  You’re hurt.  And you’re my omega.’

               ‘You killed Batman.’  The words sawed through Dick’s chest.  He couldn’t breathe.

               ‘I won’t let another alpha take you away.’

               ‘But you _killed_ him.’  Dick’s voice cracked, and before he could think, struck out with his fist.  Slade blocked it, so Dick punched again with his other hand, and then again, and again, until his was beating at Slade’s arm, and he couldn’t even see him through tears, and his chest heaved with sobs, and Slade wasn’t even blocking anymore.  Just letting Dick slam his fists again and again into Slade’s arm.  ‘You didn’t have to _kill_ him and you did, you killed him, _you killed him!_ ’

               Slade wound his around Dick, pinning Dick’s hands against his body, and Dick dropped his head against Slade’s chest and sobbed and sobbed, and wondered how much it was possible to cry before his body gave up and couldn’t do it anymore.  Before he died of it.

               ‘Let me go!’ he wailed, trying to pull his arms from Slade’s grip, to shove him back.  ‘I hate you, I hate you, _let me go!_ ’

               Slade just gripped him tighter.  ‘No.  I’m not letting you go.’

               And that was it.

               That was just it.

               Slade wasn’t letting him go.  Not for anything.  Not at any cost.  If he fought, if he screamed, if he cried, if he begged, if someone else came to rescue him …

               _Slade wasn’t letting him go._

               It was a lifetime before Dick finally stopped crying, and another lifetime before Slade loosed his grip.

               ‘That bite’s going to get infected if I don’t clean it up.’

               Dick nodded.  Numb, at least until the tears started again.  Taking a shaky breath, he unzipped his coat and peeled it off his neck and down his shoulders.  He tilted his head away, ignoring Slade’s sharp inhale, as if he was surprised at what he saw.  At what he’d done.  Dick closed his eyes, and listened as Slade cracked the bottle of water open, tipped it over a cloth and leaned in.

               And then he gritted his teeth and tried and _tried_ not to scream, as Slade washed away blood and sweat and what felt like several layers of Dick’s skin.  Then came the burning antiseptic, and Dick couldn’t quite hold back the scream at that one.  Slade murmured softly and made shushing noises, as if he hadn’t done this.  As if this, and worse, wasn’t all his fault.

               When he finally taped the dressing over Dick’s throat, Dick was ready to start crying again with relief.  Then Slade curled a hand around the back of Dick’s neck, and pulled him in, pressing their heads together.  Dick’s stomach tightened, but he didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore.  Not now.  Not tonight.

               ‘You shouldn’t have run,’ Slade murmured.  ‘Why did you have to run?’

               Dick choked.  Not quite a laugh.  Not quite a sob.  ‘You hurt me.’  He wound his arms around his belly.  ‘The baby—’

               He couldn’t say it.  Couldn’t think it.

               Tadpole was OK.  Tadpole had to be OK.

               ‘You wanted to leave,’ Slade growled.

               Dick shuddered, but he was so heavy.  So tired.  He felt like some child’s toy after a tantrum, shaken around and beaten up and thrown to the ground.  And now he couldn’t get up.  Couldn’t move.    ‘I wanted to see my family,’ he whispered.  ‘Like a normal person.’

               Slade pressed a kiss into Dick’s hair.  Dick’s stomach twisted.

               ‘You’re one of the last omegas on Earth.’  Slade finally pulled away, turning the engine back on.  ‘You don’t get the luxury of normal.’

               He swept back onto the road.  Dick let his head drop back on the window.

               ‘When do we stop?’ he muttered.  The clock on the dashboard said 02:58AM.  And judging by the long, empty road ahead, they were nowhere near a gas station, much less civilisation.

               Slade snorted.  ‘Not until the safehouse.  A pregnant omega is a target; we can’t risk hotels.’  He glanced over.  ‘Put the seat down.’

               Dick didn’t have the energy to argue.  He pulled the lever on his seat, and sank back until he was near enough horizontal.  He stared up at the back of Slade’s head, hatred coiling in his chest like a viper.  Winding round his bones.  Nipping at his heart.

               Until gradually, gradually, his eyes closed.

               And he slept.


	46. Chapter 46

Dick woke up to quiet.

               He turned over in his seat, neck stiff, bite throbbing under the bandages.  Outside, the sun peeped over a grey horizon.  And beside him, Slade was tipped back in his seat, eyes closed, breathing shallow and even.

               Dick bit his lip.  Eyes fixed on Slade, he reached for his door handle.  Pulled it softly, so softly.

               The door didn’t budge.  Still locked.

               Holding his breath, Dick clicked his seatbelt loose.  Slade kept sleeping, face smooth and unworried.  Not a twitch.  Not a flicker of the eyelid.  Not even a change in his breathing.

               Hand trembling, Dick leaned closer.  Reached out, across Slade’s body.  His fingers inched past the wheel, up the door, and his fingertips brushed the handle—

               Slade’s arm shot up, viper-fast.  He caught Dick by his wrist, even as Dick jerked back with a yelp.

               ‘I’m curious—’ Slade opened his eye, ‘—what you hoped to do after you opened the door.  Were you planning to climb over me?’

               Dick scowled.  He tugged his arm, and after a moment, Slade let him go.

               Rubbing his forehead, Slade sat up, straightening his chair behind him.  Dick slumped as Slade turned the wheel, and drove out towards the sunrise.

 

* * *

 

Starfire couldn’t remember what her own bed felt like.

               She woke up in her guest room at the Hall of Justice, head propped on too many pillows, and groaned.  When had they got back?  Somewhere between Cyborg messing with his tracking device, and her knees straight up buckling underneath her.

               She vaguely remembered Beast Boy, gorilla-formed, helping her back to her room.  Even more vaguely remembered grumbling at him, begging him to take her back, so she could help, so she could _do something_.

               Tugging her sheets up to her neck, Starfire turned over.  What’d he said?  How’d he convinced her to stay?  It seemed to compelling last night, but now …

               His voice came back, echoing as if through deep water.  _‘Chill out, Star.  Cyborg says we won’t get a ping off the tracker until tomorrow anyway.  Like, twelve whole hours.  Get some sleep.’_

               Tomorrow.  That was it.  Starfire groaned, sagging into the too-many pillows.

               Twelve hours.  They didn’t have twelve hours.  They didn’t have _one_ hour.  Every second was another second Robin spent trapped with Slade.  Trapped with the man who’d … who’d …

               The image of Robin’s swollen belly rose up in her mind’s eye.  She pressed a fist to her mouth, trying not to gag.  _I am sorry.  I am so, so sorry.  Robin …_

               The knock on her door startled her upright.

               She flew out of bed, crossed the room, and opened the door in the space of a breath.  Wally stood outside, already kitted up.  Starfire blinked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.  How long had she been in bed?  Too long.  Much too long.

               ‘Cyborg’s got the signal,’ Wally said.  ‘You good to go?’

               Starfire nodded.  ‘I am ready.’

               Wally’s eyes flicked down, and back up.  His lips twitched.  ‘You wanna change out of your jammies first?’

               Starfire glanced down.  Night dress.  Soft, fluffy socks.  She winced, holding up a finger.  ‘I will be ready in two glocknars.’

               ‘Two glocknars.’  Wally nodded.  ‘I’ll tell Bats.’

               And then, in a yellow blur, he was gone.

               Starfire shut the door.

               She failed Robin before.  She wouldn’t do it again.

               _I am coming, my friend._

 

* * *

 

By the time they reached the safehouse, Dick felt like his legs had fused to the car seat.

               He wobbled as he got out the car, legs stiff as branches.  Slade caught his arm.

               He tugged it away.

               This safehouse was smaller than the last place.  No fences or armed guards or winding mountain roads.  No gym.  No ominous extra rooms.  Just a tiny log cabin, squatting in the darkness of the woods, its small windows glaring out like rheumy eyes.

               Despite the hours spent stuck in the car, Dick barely had the energy to walk to the door.  He definitely didn’t have the energy to stop Slade dragging him to the table by the cold, empty fireplace and sitting him down, or to argue when Slade put food in front of him.  He ate mechanically, not looking at his plate and not tasting anything.  By the time he was done, Slade had a fire crackling.  The warmth sent shivers over Dick’s skin.

               ‘Come on.’  Slade hooked his arm under Dick’s, and drew him up.

               Dick staggered with him across the house, through a door, and—

               His legs locked.  ‘No.’

               Slade tightened his grip on Dick’s arm.  ‘Yes.’

               It wasn’t the same as the sparkling white bathroom as the hotel room.  The tiles were grey, for one thing, and no shiny shower cubicle stood in the corner.  Just an old, porcelain bathtub.

               ‘Slade …’ Dick groaned.

               Slade closed the bathroom door, reached past Dick and ran the taps.  ‘You’re covered and dirt and blood.  You need a bath.’  He hesitated.  ‘And so do I.’

               Dick closed his eyes.  Covered them with a hand.  God, he was tired.  So tired.  And he _ached_.  Not just where Slade bit him, but everywhere, like he’d tumbled out of a grapple and hit the ground from too high up.  ‘This isn’t going to work.’  His voice came out hoarse, as if he’d spent all day shouting, rather than silent in the car.

               ‘What isn’t going to work?’ Slade said.

               Dick didn’t lower his hand, but he could _hear_ Slade rolling his eye.  ‘This.’  He took his hand off his face and waved at the tub, filling with steaming water.  ‘All of this.’  He lifted his hand, trying to sum up the whole stupid cabin in the stupid woods in the middle of stupid nowhere.

               Slade arched an eyebrow, and Dick ground his teeth.  He wanted to play dumb?  Fine.  _Fine._

               ‘You can’t just start again,’ he snapped.  ‘It doesn’t work like that.  You hurt me.’  He touched his belly.  ‘You could’ve—could’ve—’

               Slade stared, his eyes tense, his shoulders drawing up.  For a moment, he went grey.

               Then he looked away, sighing.  ‘Just get in the fucking bath, Dick.’

               And Dick didn’t have the energy to argue.

 

* * *

 

He woke up the next morning feeling worse than the previous night.

               The bed was empty—Slade already up—and the smell of toast wafted through the small cabin.  Dick spread his arm across the sheets, groaning as his muscles screamed in protest.

               It took all the willpower he had just to drag himself out of bed.  And after that, the trip from the bedroom to the bathroom felt like climbing a mountain.  Dick splashed his face in the sink, ran the water through his hair, and blinked miserably at his reflection.  Damn, he was pale.  Pale and exhausted and god, he just wanted Starfire here right now.  Wanted to hear her clattering in the kitchen instead of Slade.  To smell whatever horrific Tamaranean recipe she’d concocted, even if it made him throw up, instead of Slade’s bland toast.  To see her smile, the way she smiled in that instant when she first saw him on the cliffs …

               Dick’s stomach tightened.  _Don’t think about it.  Don’t think about her._

               It only hurt.

               He reached for the toothbrushes on the side, taking a wild guess which one was his.  Every movement felt like trying to lift a house.  Open toothpaste.  Squirt on brush.  Open mouth.

               He dropped the toothbrush.

               ‘No.’

               His heart stopped.  Then it started again, pounding hard enough to make him choke.  _No._ He slapped a hand to his mouth, blood draining from his face, leaving him cold.  _No._   It wasn’t real.  He was seeing things.  He was—he was—fuck, he was fucking _traumatised_ and it was making him fucking _crazy_ and—

               Dick lowered his hand.  Opened his mouth.

               And, without thinking, croaked, ‘Slade!  _Slade!_ ’

               Footsteps thundered over the wooden floors.  The bathroom door burst open, and Slade reached him in an instant, gripping Dick’s shoulders as though he was about to collapse.

               ‘What’s—’

               His single eye flicked down.  To Dick’s open mouth.

               To the black spots dotting his tongue.

               ‘I’ve got it.’  Dick’s voice cracked.  ‘I’ve got the virus.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well done all you clever folks who guessed Dick would catch the virus. :D Of course I couldn't just leave a smoking gun like that on the mantelpiece ...


	47. Chapter 47

Slade gripped Dick tight enough to crush him.  He curled his fingers in Dick’s hair, wound an arm around Dick’s waist.  Held him like Dick would disappear into mist if he let go.

               ‘Slade,’ Dick groaned, pushing feebly at his chest.  ‘Slade, the baby—’

               Slade growled, but let him go.  ‘Come on.  Sit down.’  He wound an arm around Dick’s shoulders and draw him back into the bedroom.  He sat Dick on the edge of the bed, and Dick only realised he was shaking when Slade threw the blankets over his shoulders.

               ‘Wait here.’  Slade touched Dick’s face.  ‘We can fix this.’

               He slipped away, vanishing through the door.  Dick drew his legs up, lowering his forehead onto his knees.

               He was going to die.

               After all this time, he was going to die of the fucking omega virus.

               _There’s a cure._

               He swallowed.

               _And it will kill Tadpole._

               A whine slipped out his throat.

               He slid his fingers into his hair, gripping great fistfuls and tugging.  How long—how long did he have?  Days?  Weeks?  And Tadpole … little Tadpole.

               Again and again, he felt Bruce’s blood splatter on his face.  Bruce’s _infected_ blood.  Because if Starfire was infected, and Bruce was working with her, of course Bruce was infected was as well.  How could Dick have been so stupid?

               _I shouldn’t have run._

               Bile rose in his throat.

               _But I had to run._

               His vision blurred.  And with a loud, painful sob, he felt hot tears trail down his face.

               He didn’t hear Slade come back in the room.  Just felt Slade’s arms around him, drawing him into a warm, hard grip.  Dick cried, huge gulping sobs bursting through his chest and shaking his whole body.

               ‘Shhh.’  Slade kissed the top of Dick’s head.  ‘Shh, shh, shh.’

               He waited, rocking Dick like a child until Dick’s sobs gradually faded into weak hiccoughs, and then cold, empty stillness.  Until Dick felt drained, not just of tears, but of everything.  Until he felt like just bones, ready to blow away into dust.

               Slade drew back, and plucked something off the mattress beside him.  Something small and black and metallic, which he flipped open—

               Dick wiped his eyes.  ‘Is that a _communicator_?’

               ‘We have no guards here.’  Slade dialled a number into the communicator with one hand, still holding Dick against him with his other.  ‘We need some way to contact the outside world.’  He gave Dick a hard look.  ‘It’s locked to my fingerprints, and I’m not telling you where I keep it.’

               Dick didn’t even have the energy to roll his eyes.

_As if I’d call for help again._

               The screen on the communicator blurred with static, and then a voice came through—‘Slade?  Hello?’—before the picture cleared.

               Sadie stared out the screen at him, her eyes tired and drooping, her hair a tangled mess, thrown up in a bun on top of her head.  ‘Dick.  Slade.’  Her eyes flicked to Slade.  ‘This number is for medical emergencies—’

               ‘Dick has the virus.’

               Slade’s voice was cold and simple.  And the words went through Dick like a stab through the heart.  He whimpered.  Slade’s arm tightened around Dick’s waist, his jaw rippling as he ground his teeth.  Dick closed his eyes, and swallowed back another sob.  Because if he started again now, he wouldn’t stop—

               ‘Fuck.’  Sadie’s voice crackled through the communicator.  ‘Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!’

               Sadie’s cursing echoed, quieting to whispers as she moved away from the communicator, then growing louder as she stormed back.  The walls behind her whirled as she snatched her communicator up, glaring through the screen at them.  ‘How long?’

               Slade glanced at Dick, but Dick couldn’t answer.  Couldn’t open his mouth, without risking a scream.  More tears.  Hysterics.

               ‘There are spots on his tongue this morning,’ Slade said.

               More cursing from Sadie.  Another blurred screen, and then a thud.

               She’d thrown her communicator across the room.

               It was a minute before she picked it up again.  A minute of muffled swearing and thumps.  When Sadie reappeared on the screen, her face was pale, her eyes sunken.  ‘Well,’ she muttered.  As if that summarised everything.

               ‘What can we do?’ Slade said.

               She laughed, low and bitter.  ‘What can you _do_?  Go to a hospital.  Get the cure.’

               ‘No!’  Dick jerked upright.  When Sadie’s eyes flicked to him, he wound his arms around his belly.  ‘The cure—it won’t—the baby—’

               Sadie’s lips thinned.  She grimaced—but shook her head.

               ‘What about an emergency caesarean?’ Slade said.

               ‘In his state?’  Sadie nodded at Dick.  ‘It’s too risky.’

               Dick leaned in.  ‘How risky?’

               She gave him a level glare.  ‘You will die, Dick.  You are sick.  Your body won’t recover from an operation like that.’

               Dick’s chest tightened.  ‘And … the baby?’

               The bed creaked as Slade jolted beside him.  ‘No.’

               ‘Your baby would be extremely premature,’ Sadie said.  ‘Their chances would be less than fifty-fifty.’

               ‘But that’s better than if I take the cure, right?’ Dick pressed.

               Sadie’s eyes widened. ‘I—’

               ‘Dick!’  Slade gripped him hard enough to make Dick hiss.  ‘I won’t let you—’

               ‘The point is moot anyway,’ Sadie sighed.  ‘The choice will be up to the hospital staff once you hand yourselves in, and they’ll want to administer the cure.  I’m sorry, Dick.  I’m so sorry.  We tried.’

               Dick couldn’t breathe.  His heart was tearing apart.  Shredding into little pieces.  And it couldn’t—it _couldn’t_ happen like this.  All these weeks, these months, all this struggle and misery couldn’t just end with—

               ‘Hand ourselves in?’

               Slade’s voice cut through Dick’s pain like a knife slicing through paper.

               Dick swallowed.  ‘You mean … when we go to a hospital?  Right?’

               Sadie’s eyes flicked between them.  .  ‘You haven’t seen the news.  You haven’t heard … ?’  She stared, and as they kept silent, her face went grey.  ‘The announcement went out yesterday.  The omega breeding programme is cancelled.’

               The room spun.

               A roaring noise burst through Dick’s ears.  He felt like he’d jumped into deep water.  Into rushing rapids.  He felt like he was drowning.

               ‘Cancelled,’ he croaked.

               ‘Not just cancelled,’ Sadie said.  ‘It’s annihilated.  The League went public with the omegas they found.  Said they rescued them from abuse; rape; imprisonment.  They have first-hand accounts.  People willing to testify in court.  The public are furious.’  She pressed her lips together.  ‘My … my trial is in a couple of weeks.’  She turned the camera around, pointing it down her leg.  She lifted the corner of her skirt, and revealed a chunky black ankle monitor.

               Slade hissed, single eye flashing.

               But Dick … Dick’s heart leaped.

               Cancelled.

_Cancelled._

               Slade couldn’t keep him anymore.  Couldn’t hold him hostage.  Couldn’t bite him and fuck him and breed him and _own_ him.  It was over.

               Righting her camera, Sadie stared out at Slade and Dick with a weary sigh.  ‘Everyone involved in the programme has been ordered to hand themselves in.’

               ‘We haven’t broken the law,’ Slade growled.

               Dick wanted to laugh.  Wanted to _scream_ with laughter.  Hadn’t broken the law.  As if there weren’t laws against kidnapping.  Against domestic abuse.  Against rape, and forced mating, and every other fucking awful thing Slade had done.

               She shrugged.  ‘You still have to face trial.  Dick will be returned to his home.’

               Slade snarled, loud and deep enough to rattle the windows.  Dick yelped, and Slade gripped him tighter.  ‘They are not taking him away from me!’

               ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Slade,’ Sadie snapped.  ‘You’ll be hunted down.  By the police, by the League, by anyone who realises you were one of the alphas from the programme.  You’ll be public enemy—’

               Whatever she meant to say was cut off by the high-pitched, agonising wail of sirens through the house.

               Dick cried out, curling into a ball as the noise pierced through his pounding head, like needles stabbing into his brain.  Slade snapped his communicator shut, stuffing it in his jeans as he leaped up and ran for the door.  Dick staggered after him, hands pressed to his ears.

               At the front door, Slade wrenched open a panel in the wall and revealed a tiny monitor, which flashed with red lights.  He slapped a button and the sirens cut off.

               ‘What’s going on?’ Dick croaked.  ‘What was that?’

               ‘Perimeter alarm.’  Slade tapped at the monitor screen, flicking through feed after feed of grainy black and white security footage.  ‘There’s been a breach—’

               He stopped.  Dick’s breath stuck in his throat.

               Figures marched through the trees.  It was too blurry to make out their faces, but the hulking figure near the back had to be Cyborg, and the tiger prowling alongside him was obviously Beast Boy.  Before Dick could step closer, could look for Starfire, or try to discern any of the other’s faces, Slade snapped the panel shut.

               ‘Get in the car,’ he snapped.

               Dick didn’t move.

_Cancelled._

               He didn’t have to do what Slade wanted anymore.

               Slade didn’t _own_ him anymore.

               ‘No.’

               Slade whirled.  Before Dick could stagger back, Slade was on him, hands gripping his shoulders.  ‘ _What?_ ’

               Dick squared his shoulders.  ‘I said _no_.  The omega programme—’

               ‘I don’t give a shit about the omega programme,’ Slade spat.  ‘Weren’t you listening?  If your friends take you, you’ll be forced to take the cure, and our baby will die.’

               Dick’s stomach dropped.  His throat tightened.  _Tadpole._

               ‘Is that what you want?’  Slade shook him.  ‘Is it?’

               Dick could barely force the word out.  ‘No.’

               ‘Then move!’  Slade shoved him.  ‘Go, run!’

               Dick ran.


	48. Chapter 48

They found the house empty.  More than empty—ransacked.

               Starfire’s boots clicked on the wood floor as she paced past open cupboards and drawers with dark holes where food used to be.  She peeked through a door and found an unmade bed, the duvet crumpled and trailing on the floor.

               ‘Slade knew we were coming.’  Batman’s cloak swished as he turned on the spot.

               Cyborg nodded; he tapped his temple and his robotic eye flashed.  ‘I’m not picking up any heat signatures.  No one’s hiding in here.’  He tapped his temple again and lowered his arm.  ‘But the fire’s still warm.  They haven’t been gone long.’

               ‘Kid Flash,’ Batman said, and Wally looked up from a half-eaten plate of toast he was eyeing on the kitchen counter.  ‘Run the perimeter.  See if you can find them.  Radio in if you see anything—don’t confront them alone.’

               ‘Yessir!’  Wally snapped a salute, and vanished in a yellow blur.

               The knot in Starfire’s stomach tightened.  ‘Cyborg, when will we receive the next signal?’

               ‘A few hours, Star.’  Cyborg’s gaze flicked around the room, and then stopped at the front door.  He frowned, stepped closer, and ran his hand over the wall.  A panel slid open, revealing a screen hidden in the wall.

               ‘The heck is that?’ Beast Boy sprang across the room, landing on Cyborg’s shoulder as a monkey.

               ‘Security system,’ Cyborg muttered, tapping at the screen.  ‘Slade saw us coming.’

               Wally reappeared in the middle of the room, panting for breath.  ‘And he’s gone.  No one on the roads for a few miles.’

               Batman nodded.  ‘Keep searching the house.  See if there’s any clue where they’re headed.’  He sucked in a breath.  ‘If Slade thinks he can escape, he’s wrong.’

 

* * *

 

Slade had escaped arrest three times in the last ten hours.

               The first roadblock was a surprise.  Slade followed the slow creep of traffic up the road until they saw the police uniforms and orange traffic cones and flashing red and blue lights.

               ‘Slade …’ Dick murmured.

               Up ahead, the car at the front of the roadblock rolled their window down.  A cop stuck his head in, nodded a couple of times, and then waved them forward.

               Sadie’s words crept back into Dick’s mind.  _The omega programme is cancelled … you’ll be hunted down …_

               Slade blew out a breath.  He glanced over his shoulder, turned the car and headed back the way they came.  Which might’ve looked suspicious, except the instant he did it, two more cars also turned, sliding out the traffic to follow him.  Dick didn’t blame them—the queue was building up behind them, growing longer and slower by the minute.

               Thank god for the impatience of the general public.

               Slade slipped down a side road through the woods, twisting and weaving through the trees for hours.

               Until they came to the second roadblock.

               Slade growled at this, and about-turned for the second time.

               More empty roads, more twisting through the woods.  Dick stuffed a hoodie under his head and leaned against the window, dozing.  He felt drained, his stomach growling.  At least he had the radio for a distraction—traffic reports and news cycles and mindless pop music, all blurring together.

               When they hit the third roadblock, Slade stopped the car.

               ‘OK.’  His voice was low, resigned.  ‘OK.  Fine.’

               Dick rolled his head round to look at him.  ‘What are you … ?’

               ‘Stay here.’  Slade opened the door, leaving it hanging, strolled round the car, and popped the trunk.

               Dick heard shuffling, and a slam.  Then Slade marched past his window and up the road, towards the roadblock.  It was quiet—just a couple of cops with one car.  They hopped out to meet him, waving.  Slade waved back.

               And pulled the gun out his back pocket.

               Dick shrieked.  The gunshots cracked through the air, loud as trees toppling, and Dick slammed into his door—locked—before leaping across the car and out the driver’s side.  By the time his feet hit the tarmac, the cops were sprawled on the road, blood seeping out under their jackets.

               Slade turned, shoving the gun back in his jeans.  ‘Dick!’  He jabbed a finger at him.  ‘Back in the car!’

               ‘No …’ Dick moaned, hand to his mouth.  ‘No, no …’

               Slade caught him by the upper arm, dragging him back.  Dick retched, and Slade stepped back as Dick doubled over, spitting on the pavement.  His stomach was empty, and all that came up was bile, sharp and acidic on his tongue.

               Slade touched his shoulder.  His voice softened.  ‘Come on.  Back in the car.’

               Dick let Slade drag him back.  He slumped in the passenger seat.  ‘You killed them.’

               ‘It’s them or us.’  Slade slid into the driver’s side, and started the engine.

               And Dick knew it wasn’t true.  It couldn’t be.

               He wound his arms around his stomach and closed his eyes, and didn’t look as Slade drove past the bodies.

 

* * *

 

They stopped because they had to.  Not at a town, or a hotel, or anywhere with people.  Just on the side of the road, in the dark.

               Slade dug food out the trunk—dried fruit and crackers and packets of trail mix—and Dick went from ravenous to nauseous the instant it hit his tongue. 

               He forced down a few bites, then tipped his chair back and tried to sleep, listening to birds fluttering in the woods outside, trying to ignore all the aches in his body.

               He woke up to lights piercing his eyes.  Rolling over, Dick blinked, swallowing around a dry throat.  _Sunrise already?_

               But no—the light outside wasn’t the soft grey haze of dawn.  It was sharp, white headlights.  Half a dozen of them, crowded around the car.  Dick hissed, sitting upright.  ‘Slade!’

               Slade was already sat up beside him, digging in his pocket.  The gun flashed in his hand.

               Dick touched his wrist.  ‘Don’t—’

               Slade shook him off.  Opened the door.

               Dick scrambled to follow him, but this time Slade threw the door closed.  Dick grabbed the handle and tugged, uselessly.  Locked in.  He slammed his hands against the window.  ‘Slade!’  _No more dead cops_.  ‘Slade, stop!’  _Please, please, no more—_

               ‘Well hello and good morning.’  A voice rang out across the road.  A figure stepped in front of the headlights, nothing more than a shadow with the lights glaring behind him.  ‘Why don’t you let your pretty little omega out?  Sounds like he wants to play.’

               Dick went cold.

               _Not cops._

               Slade tugged something bulky out his pocket and pointed it at the shadow.  A new beam of light, faint and yellow compared to the headlights, shone out across the dark, hitting the shadow in the face.  He winced—a heavyset man in a dark suit.  As he brought a hand up to shield his eyes, knuckledusters glinted on his fingers.

               Dick shuddered, inching back in his seat.  Slade swung his flashlight around, lighting up each of their faces one at a time.

               And Dick recognised them.  Maybe not their faces, but their expressions.  Their suits.  The way they’d looked at him in diner, their hands grabbing at him and yanking him away as he screamed, the bond tearing at his chest—

               ‘Falcone won’t want him,’ Slade said.  ‘He’s infected.’

               ‘There’s a cure for that,’ said the man standing in the beam of light.

               Slade swung the flashlight back up into his face; he didn’t wince this time.  ‘He’s also pregnant.’

               ‘There’s a cure for that, too.’

               Slade snarled, loud and deep enough to shake the trees.

               And Dick wasn’t sure who fired first, but suddenly the woods were full of thunder.  Lights flashed.  A bullet cracked off the edge of the wing mirror on Dick’s side, and he yelped and huddled down, arms round his belly.  Snarls and shouts echoed through the forest, and then the driver’s side door opened—

               Dick twisted, fists curled, ready to lunge—

               Slade leaped in, slamming the door.  ‘Head down!’

               Dick ducked.  The engine roared and the tyres squealed, and he fell back against his seat as the car tore away into the darkness.  White headlights flashed behind them, and Slade tore off the road onto a dirt track, and then slipped off that track onto another, and another.  Until gradually, minute by aching minute, the lights behind them faded.

               And Dick started to breathe again.


	49. Chapter 49

It was days before they reached the next safehouse.  Days of constant driving.  Dodging roadblocks.  Slade shooting through the ones they couldn’t dodge, while Dick slammed uselessly against the locked car doors like a moth batting against the window, screaming for him to stop.

               They slept in the car beside the road.  Or rather, in the woods by the side of the road—not risking Falcone’s men, or anyone, catching them off-guard again.  Slade drove the car off the track and between the trees, tearing through bushes and bumping over rocks until they were buried from prying eyes in the dark.

               One state melted into another, until Dick could barely guess where they were.   And when Slade drove up to a lonely, grey house perched on a frozen river, he could have cried with relief.

               A real bed.  Real food.

               When Slade opened the car door, Dick stood up and swayed, lights flashing in his eyes.  Slade caught him just as his knees buckled.

               ‘Don’t feel good,’ Dick muttered.

               ‘I know.’  Slade wound an arm around his waist, guiding Dick to the front door.  ‘I’ve got you.’

               _Of course I don’t feel good._   Dick let Slade draw him inside, and lower him onto a battered old sofa.  _I’m dying._

               It should’ve hit him harder.  It should’ve hurt.  But he was so tired.  So fucking tired …

               He closed his eyes, and slept.

 

* * *

 

He woke up to a screaming alarm, and Slade cursing.

               Dick rolled over, blinking in the dark.  Springs creaked as he sat up, and a thick duvet slipped down his body.  Slade must’ve carried him to bed sometime when he was asleep.  His head spun.  Somewhere, under the sound of the alarm, footsteps thudded.

               The alarm shut off.

               Dick’s ears rang in the silence.  ‘What is it?’

               More footsteps in the dark.  The mattress creaked, and Slade touched his knee.  ‘Another breach.  It’s your friends.’  He squeezed Dick’s leg.  ‘We have to move.’

               Dick groaned.  He was so heavy.  ‘Slade, I can’t.’

               Slade’s voice grew strained.  ‘I know.’

               For a moment, they were still.  And Dick knew if he dared put his head down, he’d be asleep instantly.

               ‘Dick,’ Slade said softly.  ‘I can get the cure.  We won’t have to be separated.  I know people—’

               ‘No!’  Dick jerked upright.

               ‘Dick—’

               Dick gripped Slade’s arm, strength returning as he pressed Slade’s hand against his belly.  He willed Tadpole to move.  To kick.  To remind Slade he was there, a tiny little life, waiting to be born.  And then, as if realising he was under threat, Tadpole shifted in Dick’s belly; enough that Slade couldn’t help but feel it.  ‘We’re not losing him!’ Dick snapped.  ‘We’re not—after all this—I _can’t_ —’

               Groaning, Slade leaned in, knocking his head against Dick’s.  ‘I’m not losing you, either.’

               Dick swallowed.  Licked his dry lips.  ‘Then you’d better get us both out of here.  Before my friends …’

               Grunting in agreement, Slade slipped his arms under Dick and lifted him out of bed, bridal-style.  Dick dropped his head on Slade’s shoulder.  How long did it take the virus to kill someone?  Weeks?  Months?

               He needed to hang on … what … three months?  Three months, and Tadpole would be born.

               He’d never heard of anyone surviving the virus for three months.

               _I’ll just have to be the exception._

               Which would be easier, if he could rest in a real house.  In a real bed.  If he could be safe and comfortable, and not stuck in a car, tearing down back roads at a million miles an hour.

               ‘How do they keep finding us?’ Dick groaned as Slade settled him in the passenger seat.

               Slade only sighed.  Which meant he didn’t know.

               And drove away.

 

* * *

 

It was incredible what you could get used to.

               Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.  Couldn’t remember his last hot meal.  And as for sleeping in a bed with a pillow …

               Days and days slipped by, and he spent half of them asleep.  But sleeping was good.  Sleeping meant resting, and resting meant giving his body more energy for the only two important things: fighting the virus, and carrying Tadpole.

               They whirled past Chicago, and then Gotham and New York, stopping wherever Slade could hide the car to sleep, stretch their legs and relieve themselves.  And every day they kept moving was another day Dick had made it, another day Tadpole was nearly ready to be born.

               They hit blockade after blockade in New York State, Slade taking increasingly creative and twisting routes to avoid the police.  Dick’s heart skipped every time he saw flashing lights, but every time they slipped away—the blockades too large and too populated for Slade to resort to his _other_ methods.

               Dick woke up in the dark to a steady, thumping ache in his back and stomach.  Cramp.  He’d been still too long.  He needed to move, to walk around, but even if he could he didn’t have the energy.

               He turned over in his chair, and found Slade still driving.  Pushing himself up, Dick tugged the lever to straighten his seat.  ‘Slade?’ he mumbled.  ‘Haven’t you slept yet?’

               Slade shook his head.  ‘I’m fine.  Go back to sleep.’

               Checking the clock on the dashboard, Dick frowned.  06:58AM.  Dawn light was spreading over the horizon, cool and blue-white.  ‘S’morning.’

               Slade snorted.  ‘Then lie in.’

               But his voice was hard.  Strained.  More than just tired.

               Narrowing his eyes, Dick looked closer at Slade.  His jaw was tight, both hands gripping the wheel.  And, as if he couldn’t resist the urge, his single eye flicked to the rear-view mirror.  Again.  Again.  Dick swivelled in his seat.

               The road was dark and empty, except for two yellow-white headlights, ten feet back.

               Dick swallowed.  ‘How long have they been following us?’

               ‘Long enough,’ Slade said quietly.

               The car behind them revved.  Flashed its lights.

               A warning.

               _Pull over._

               No red-and-blues and no siren, which meant it wasn’t a police car.  Dick’s heart thudded.  _Falcone._   Tingles crawled over his skin, gunshots echoing through his head.  _Not again._

               ‘Keep your head down,’ Slade said.  ‘I’ll shake them off.’

               Dick stared out at the long, straight road ahead of them.  Shake them off how?  There was nowhere to go.  He sank into his seat, breathing hard.  His stomach twisted and he whimpered.  He pressed his hands to his belly.  _It’s OK, Tadpole.  I’ve got you._

               The first gunshot crashed through the rear window.

               Glass shattered, and Dick cried out, curling over to protect his stomach.  Cold air whipped into the car, tearing through his hair, biting at his bare arms.  Snarling, Slade spun the wheel.  The car skidded round, slamming Dick into the passenger door, wheels screaming on the tarmac.  Dick gasped, the air knocked out his lungs.

               A second gunshot cracked through the air, and then a third and a fourth.  And Slade sped towards the approaching car, his teeth gritted, single eye wide and furious.

               He slipped past it, then jerked the wheel again and slammed into the car side-on-side.  Metal screeched and men screamed.  Dick cried out.

               And the other car flipped up and whirled into the dark.

               Dick couldn’t breathe.  His heart thumped in his throat, choking him.  And his stomach—

               He gasped, yelping at the sharp, sudden pain in his stomach.  Worse than the pain that woke him.  Like a knife, twisting in his gut.  He tried and tried to breathe, sharp and shallow, clinging to his belly.  No.  No no no no no.

               Damp spread between his legs.

               ‘Slade.’

               ‘We’re all right.’  Slade reached over touching his shoulder.  ‘They can’t follow us now.’

               ‘ _Slade._ ’  Dick wheezed.  Fuck.  Fuck fuck _fuck._   ‘Slade, I need a hospital.’

               Slade whirled, single eye blazing with panic.  ‘They hit you?’

               Dick whimpered in response, clinging to his belly.  Waiting for the next wave.  ‘The baby.’  He squeezed his eyes closed.  Breathe.  Oh god.  Oh fuck.  Breathe.  No.  No, no. no.  ‘The baby’s coming.’

              


	50. Chapter 50

Dick doubled over in seat, gasping.  It hurt.  God, _fuck_ , it hurt.

               ‘It’s too soon.’  His heart pounded.  His voice crept up an octave, shaking with panic.  ‘Slade, it’s too soon, this isn’t right, the baby’s going to—’

               He howled as another shard of pain shot through his belly.  Tears pricked his eyes.  He trembled, sore and aching and exhausted and it hurt and it hurt and it _hurt._

               Slade set one hand on Dick’s knee, squeezing every time Dick cried out in pain.  And he kept driving, faster and faster, the needle on the dashboard creeping up past sixty … eighty … one hundred …

               The sun was fully up, cold winter sunlight streaming between trees when Slade swerved off the main road and into what looked like a national park.  They flitted past picnic benches piled with snow, then ploughed deeper into the woods, and deeper, and with every new spasm Dick’s stomach grew tighter and the pain grew stronger and he cried and whimpered and gasped.

               Slade pulled up outside a chalet.  Thin layers of snow dusted the ground and rooftop, like sprinkles of frosting, and just a few paces from the house a waterfall hissed over tumbling rocks.  The whole thing would’ve been like a picture from a Christmas card if Dick wasn’t in _screaming pain_.

               He sobbed, legs shaking as Slade helped him out the car.  ‘Slade, I need a _hospital_.  Please, _please_ , take me to a hospital.’

               ‘There’s nowhere else nearby.  This is all we’ve got.’  Slade touched Dick’s cheek.  Drew his face up to look him in the eye.  ‘The baby is going to be fine.  You’re going to be fine.’  He straightened.  ‘Besides, in the hospital they’d only separate us.’

               Dick’s heart thumped.  ‘You’re crazy.’

               Slade opened the door and dragged Dick through.

               A table was wedged in the dark and dusty kitchen to the left, and the rest of the space was swallowed up by the bed in the far corner.  Dick toppled onto the bare mattress, hands shaking as he clutched his stomach.

               Slade pressed a kiss to his forehead.  ‘You are _mine._   You are _my mate_ , and you are carrying _my child_ , and you are _staying with me_.’

 

* * *

 

Dick didn’t so much fall asleep as pass out.

               One second his was pacing, rocking back and forth, arms tight around his belly.  The next he was flat in bed, and had to pull the pillow up to his mouth to muffle a scream.

               All the curtains were closed, the house dim and warm.  The bed beneath Dick was now made with clean sheets, the duvet pulled up to his chin.

               Something was wrong.  Something was horribly, deathly wrong.  His spine was on fire.  His belly felt like it had been torn open.  Like if he lifted the covers, he’d find his guts spilling out over the mattress.  And his head … his head felt like it’d been nailed to the pillow.  He whined, not even trying to choke back tears.

               ‘I think he’s waking up.’

               Dick lifted his head.  In the kitchen, Slade murmured softly into the communicator, apparently trying not to disturb him.  Trying to let Dick sleep.

               But Dick wouldn’t sleep again now.  Not with this pain tearing through him.

               He rolled out of bed, tugged the bathrobe straight, and staggered a few paces across the room.  The walls blurred, crackling grey and white and black.

               ‘Yes, he’s awake,’ Slade said, and then, ‘Dick—!’

               Dick got a faint impression of Slade lunging for him, and then he tumbled backwards.

               Slade’s arms swept underneath him, picking Dick up as easily as a bag of flour.  Alpha scent blasted into Dick’s face, warm and familiar, and without thinking he slumped.  The pain in his stomach dulled to a low, tight throb.

               Setting him down on the mattress, Slade ran a hand through Dick’s hair.  ‘Dick?  Can you hear me?’

               ‘M’fine,’ Dick mumbled.  And then, as if to prove him wrong, his stomach tightened, sending sharp spasms up his spine.  He howled, bending over.

               A tinny voice jabbered somewhere behind him.  Dick picked out the words, ‘Slade?  What’s happening?’

               Slade scooped up the communicator.  ‘Dick fainted.  He’s all right.’

               Dick blinked at the communicator screen, and with a wash of relief, recognised Sadie.  He gripped Slade’s arm, pulling the communicator closer.  ‘Sadie!  Are you coming?  Are you coming to help?’

               ‘I would.’  Sadie narrowed her eyes.  ‘But this _bastard_ won’t tell me where you are.  Your baby needs a hospital, Dick.  Tell him.’

               _I’ve already told him._   But the moment Dick opened his mouth, his stomach twisted, and he turned away with a scream.

               ‘Was that another contraction?’  Sadie’s voice went up an octave.  ‘Jesus, Slade, how long’s he been in labour?  How dilated is he?’

               If Slade answered, Dick didn’t hear.  He was already screaming again.  And he could feel Tadpole rolling inside him, twisting and kicking, and for an insane moment he imagined his stomach bursting open, blood gushing over the wood flooring—

               And then the tightness in his belly seemed to slide down and—

               ‘Fuck, fuck _fuck!_ ’Dick snatched the communicator out of Slade’s hand.  ‘When do I push?  What do I do?’  Another wave of pain.  He shrieked, bowing over, hand trembling around the communicator.  _‘Help!’_

               A moment of quiet.  Slade put his arm over Dick’s shoulders, drawing close.  Dick felt a rumble against his back, and realised Slade was growling, low and soft and even.  Not like a threat.  Like a comfort.

               Sadie’s eyes gleamed.  ‘If you want to push, push,’ she said, and she couldn’t seem to keep the quaver of excitement out of her tone.  ‘Deep breaths, Dick.  This could still be a while.  I’ll be right here to talk you through it.  And _Slade_ —’ her voice took on a hard edge, ‘—is going to check how dilated you are, and then get you some Tylenol and run you a bath.’

 

* * *

 

The Tylenol didn’t make a dent.  But the bath helped.

               For about ten minutes.

                The pain kept coming, and kept coming, and Dick was so tired, but somehow lying down hurt worse than standing up, so he started walking again.  Round and round and round the room.  Sadie kept talking on the communicator, and he heard maybe every third word, and Slade kept rubbing his back and bringing him water to drink and painkillers to swallow, and the pressure built and built in Dick’s belly, and then—

               Burning, tearing, searing.  Kneeling up on the bed, gripping Slade’s forearms like he was hanging off a mountain, and sobbing and screaming into Slade’s chest, and then—

               Two voices screaming.

               The room went soft and grey and fuzzy, and Dick barely felt Slade helping lie him down.  Barely felt the pillows propping him up, or heard Sadie’s instructions over the communicator as Slade cut the cord and bundled the little, squirming, squalling thing up in towels.  Because the only thing in the world was that scream.

               He was OK.

               Tadpole was OK.

               Dick took a breath, and it was such hard work.  His chest ached.  His head spun.  But he forced himself up.  Held his arms out.  ‘Give him to me.’

               Slade looked up from the bundle.  Lifted it, gently, ever so gently, and set it down in Dick’s lap.  ‘She’s a girl.’

               Dick stalled.

               A … a girl?

               He curled his arms around the little squirming bundle.

               ‘A girl,’ he breathed.  His little girl.  His little Tadpole.

               She was tiny.

               Tiny, and pink, and still covered in filmy gunk, her eyes screwed closed and mouth open and wailing.  She kicked and wriggled inside the towel, and finally worked one pudgy, grasping hand free.  Dick curled his fingers around her hand, and warmth flooded out of him, filling him up like sunshine.  Her screaming softened.  She gave one last, plaintive little wail, and fell quiet.

               ‘I know,’ Dick whispered, bowing his head to kiss her forehead.  ‘I know, it’s been a bad day for me, too.’

               Slade laughed.  And if Dick hadn’t been holding Tadpole in both hands, he’d have reached over and punched him, consequences be damned.  Instead, he leaned over sideways, and let his head fall on Slade’s shoulder.  On the end of the bed, buried somewhere under the filthy towels, Slade’s communicator buzzed.  Dick couldn’t remember Slade hanging up on Sadie.  Neither of them reached for it now.  Gradually, it rang out and went still.

               Tadpole breathed, a quiet, raspy little breath.  And Dick swallowed.  She really was tiny.  _Too_ tiny.  Her cheeks were thin, her eyes bulging.  She took another soft, wheezing breath.

               ‘Slade,’ Dick murmured.  ‘She needs a hospital.’

               He expected a growl, or a snarl.  Expected Slade to grip his arm.  Bare his teeth.  Dick glanced up.

               But Slade’s single eye was fixed on Tadpole—and lined with pain.

               ‘I want to stay with you,’ Dick whispered, although the words made his chest tighten until it almost choked him.  ‘I’ll tell them you never hurt me.  That you cared for me.  I’ll tell them you’re my mate, and I need you.’  Bile swelled in his throat and he swallowed.  Turned his face into Slade’s neck and breathed that alpha scent.  Let it wash over him, erasing the beatings and the rape and the fear and the blood.  For now.  For Tadpole.  ‘I’ll tell them anything I have to.  But please, Slade.  _Please._   She needs a hospital.’

               Slade’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.  He took a breath.

               And the alarms blared through the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BabY baBY bAbY BaBy bABy BAby (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧


	51. Chapter 51

Tadpole started screaming again, kicking her legs inside the bundle of towels, thrashing at the ear-splitting screech of the alarms.

               Dick bent over her, rocking.  ‘It’s OK, it’s OK, it’s just an alarm.  Nothing to be scared of.’  His voice hitched.  ‘You’re gonna be OK.’

               Slade lunged off the bed and into the kitchen area on the other side of the chalet.  He wrenched open one of the cupboards, revealing the security system, and hit the switch to silence the alarm.  Which just left Tadpole’s crying—her face screwed up, her one free hand balled in a fist and punching at the air.

               Dick curled his knees up and hunched closer, trying to make her feel shielded.  Safe.

               Fuck, he was tired.  He felt like his muscles had dissolved.  Like his bones had been ground to powder.

               He looked up at Slade, head spinning.  ‘My friends?’

               The words came out in a thin, quiet croak.  Barely audible over Tadpole’s crying.

               A thrill of fear shot up his spine— _they’ll force me to take the cure; they’ll hurt Tadpole_ —before he realised there was no need.  Tadpole was here.  Born.  Alive.  Squirming and screaming in his arms.

               He could take the cure.

               His friends could take him to a hospital, and he could take the cure, and Tadpole could be safe, and Slade might even let it happen.  Dick just needed to tell them he wanted to stay with Slade.  That Slade hadn’t hurt him.  Slade was his mate.

               Everything would be OK.

               Slade turned.  His face was grey, his eyes sunken.  ‘Not unless you’ve made friends with Falcone.’

               Dick’s heart stopped.  ‘What?’

               In his arms, Tadpole’s wailing rose in pitch.  He held her tighter.

               Slade stepped aside, turning the screen in the cupboard to face Dick.  On it, car after car after car trailed up the road through the woods.  The same cars that had surrounded them on the road that night.  All black.  All driving at the same slow, deliberate pace, nose-to-tail.

               Dick couldn’t breathe.  So many.  _So many._

               ‘I think Falcone took exception to me flipping his car this morning.’  Slade shut the cupboard door.  ‘We have to run.’

               Dick swallowed back a sob.  He hurt.  He hurt all over.  All he wanted to do was curl up around Tadpole and sleep forever.  ‘I can’t,’ he whispered.  ‘Slade, I _can’t_.’

               Slade’s eye flicked down Dick’s body—to Tadpole—and back up.

               Suddenly, the lines around his eyes seemed like craters, cutting deep into his skin.  He grimaced, and more lines bracketed his mouth.

               Slade swallowed.  ‘I know.’

               In Dick’s arms, Tadpole sniffled, her wails quieting as she realised the alarms had stopped.

               Dick slumped against the pillows.  ‘What do we do?’

               Crossing the room in a few steps, Slade leaned over kissed him, just hard enough to feel possessive.  Then he ran his hand over Tadpole’s head, his touch soft and lingering.  ‘Stay here.  Keep hold of her.’

               And he reached for his communicator.

 

* * *

 

The little chalet became a fortress in ten minutes flat.

               Slade shuttered and barred the windows; taped the glass.  He drove the car up against the front door and then barricaded it with the kitchen table on the inside.  He left only one window ajar—just enough for him to poke out the barrel of a semiautomatic.

               And there he crouched, pistols and knives and spare bullets piled around him, as the cars rumbled up the road and surrounded the house.  Their engines roared around all four walls, revving and growling like a pack of wolves.

               Somewhere out the front, a car door slammed.

               ‘Come on out, Slade,’ a voice called.  ‘Nowhere to run this time.’

               Dick shivered.  For an instant, he was in Gotham City, fog swirling around him, Batman’s shadow falling over him.  He knew that voice …

               ‘Carmine Falcone,’ Slade called.  ‘Shouldn’t you be holed up in your mansion?  I wouldn’t want you to stain that nice suit.’  He shifted, poking the barrel of the semiautomatic out the window just a little further to make his point.

               In Dick’s arms, Tadpole fidgeted and snuffled in her sleep.  He stroked her hair, heart thumping.

               Falcone was here _himself_?  He must want omegas _badly_.

               ‘You’ve insulted me, Slade,’ Falcone said.  ‘Running is one thing, but you’ve killed my people.  That crash cost more than a nice car.  And so close to Gotham, practically on my doorstep.  So I figure you must be baiting me.’

               Slade snorted.  ‘I’ll pay you back for the car.’

               ‘And now you make jokes.’  Even though Dick couldn’t see him, he imagined Falcone spreading his arms wide in mock distress.  ‘We just want the omega, Slade.  We know you got Robin.  Hell, step out now and I’ll even pay you for him, fair and square, all insults forgotten.  How’s that sound?’

               Slade fired.

               The gun went off like thunder pealing over a mountain.  Tadpole woke up and screamed, throwing her head back and screwing up her little face until it went scarlet.  There was a shout outside, and Slade stopped firing, and Dick’s heart leaped into his throat.  Had Slade—had he—?

               But then Falcone shouted, ‘You’ve made a mistake, Slade!  We’d have even let you keep your kid, if we’d known.  That ain’t happening now.’

               And of course.  Of course Falcone wasn’t stupid enough to get in the line of fire.  He’d probably stood behind his car, with plenty of cover to duck under when Slade inevitably started taking shots at him.

               When the siege began.

               For a moment, there was silence.  Dick thought he heard soft clicks.  Boots thumping on dirt.  Then, one by one, car doors slammed around the house.

               And then the first bullet burst through the window.

 

* * *

 

‘Well,’ said Wally, staring at the upside-down car with his hands on his hips, ‘that isn’t good.’

               Starfire swallowed.  ‘No.  It appears to be quite bad.’

               The T-Jet and the Bat-Jet glimmered up the road.  Overheard, Beast Boy circled in the cold blue sky as an albatross, his wings casting a flickering shadow over the ground.  Raven floated by the side of the road, cape snapping in the icy wind as she sent out pulses of magic, searching for people nearby.

               Hovering behind Star and Wally like a shadow, Batman folded his arms under his cape.  ‘It’s one of Carmine Falcone’s cars.’  At their confused looks, he added, ‘Gotham City gangster.  One of the worst.’

               Starfire’s stomach tightened.  ‘Perhaps it is unrelated?’

               Batman looked doubtful.  Wally winced.

               Tapping at the screen on his arm, Cyborg stepped up behind them.  ‘The last ping from the tracker was right around here.’  He peered up at Raven, then Beast Boy.  ‘Hopefully they can find something—’

               He jolted as the screen on his arm flashed to an incoming call.  At the same time, Starfire’s communicator buzzed on her hip.  As she tugged it out, Raven floated down to meet them, her own communicator open in her palm.  Beast Boy swept down with a screech.

               Starfire flicked her communicator open.  Bumblebee’s face peered out the screen; she looked weary and bedraggled, like she’d just got back from a mission.  A plaster covered the bridge of her nose, and scrapes lined her cheek.  ‘Hey, Titans.’

               Wally leaned in over Starfire’s shoulder, and grinned as he recognised Bumblebee.  ‘What’s up, Titans East?’

               Bumblebee didn’t return his smile.  In fact, her brow knitted.  ‘A message came to Titan’s Tower just now.  Cyborg’s system redirected it to us.’  She swallowed.  ‘I think you need to hear it.’

               Starfire met Cyborg’s glance over the top of her communicator.  His human eye was tense.

               ‘Go ahead, Bee,’ he said.  ‘Send it through.’

               Bumblebee nodded, reaching forward and tapping at some off-screen console.

               The screen filled with static, and a new face appeared.  Older, paler, with lines around his eyes and an unkept beard covering his jaw.

               And a black patch over his right eye.

               ‘Slade,’ Starfire hissed.

               ‘Titans,’ Slade said.  And for all that he looked exhausted—ragged, even—his tone was as smooth and cold as ever.

               Starfire clenched her fist.  Her communicator creaked under the strength of her grip.  Apparently noticing this, Wally plucked the communicator out of her hand and held it out at arm’s length for them both to see.  Starfire brought her hand down by her side, starbolts burning on her fingertips.

               ‘Since you have been so successful tracking our movements these last few weeks, I don’t doubt you’re nearby,’ Slade continued.  ‘But just in case you need help … our coordinates are attached to this message.’

               Cyborg choked, staggering back a step.  Then he dropped his head, tapping frantically at the screen on his arm.  Starfire’s heart jumped into her throat.  This was … this was _crazy_.  Why now?  Why would Slade—?

               ‘I’m afraid we’ve offended Carmine Falcone,’ Slade said.  ‘We need an extraction.  And just to encourage you to move quickly …’

               He turned the camera away from his own face.

               And there was Dick.  Bone-white, shining with sweat, hollow-cheeked and dark-eyed.  He sat at the head of a unkept bed, knees curled up and hiding the bulge of his pregnancy.  He smiled, thin and wan, but there was a genuine spark of hope in his eyes.  Like he thought— _really_ thought—everything was about to be OK.  ‘Come quick, guys.’  He took a breath, shifting his arms, as if he wanted to say something else, to show them something—

               The video shut off.

               For a second, Starfire thought someone was screaming.  Then she realised it was her ears, ringing in the painful silence.

               ‘The hell is Slade’s deal?’ Beast Boy said.  ‘He’s been running from us for weeks; now he _wants_ us to find him?’

               ‘It does feel like a trap,’ Raven admitted.

               But Batman shook his head.  ‘He mentioned Falcone.’  His eyes flicked to the upside-down car wreck.  ‘If this was Slade’s doing—if one of Falcone’s men died in the crash—they’re in trouble.  More trouble than Slade alone can get them out of.’  He exhaled, and something about the set of his jaw made Starfire think he was barely holding back panic.  ‘He knows surrendering to us is the safest option.’

               Starfire’s throat tightened.  Just how bad could trouble _be_?  If it was enough to make Slade call for him …

               ‘Coordinates are here.’  Cyborg turned his arm, showing a map on the screen.  ‘It’s only a few miles.  Won’t even take us an hour in the jets.’

               Starfire looked up.  For a moment, the air was still.  Holding its breath.

               And then, as one, they turned and ran for the jets.


	52. Chapter 52

The T-Jet roared over the woods, shaking the trees beneath it.

               Starfire saw the gleam of black cars before she spotted the chalet tucked in the trees.  Men in suits crawled around the cars like swarming ants, hefting heavyweight guns in their arms.  No one was shooting, and she guessed that was because Slade’s car was rammed against the chalet door blocking the men out.

               Her heart hammered.  ‘These are Falcone’s friends?’

               Wally’s voice crackled over the intercom from his seat in Robin’s usual place.  ‘I don’t think a guy like Falcone really has friends, Star.’

               Far below, the suited men looked up, shielding their eyes and pointing, shouting to one another in panic as the two jets slowed to hover over their heads.

               Starfire stared at the tiny wooden building—Robin’s prison.  The windows were all dark, and no smoke rose from the chimney.  But in one window, right in the bottom corner, a tiny dark shape glimmered.

               A gun.  _Slade’s_ gun.

               Starfire’s heart leaped, and she was so distracted by her first real life glimpse of Slade in months, she didn’t notice the men beneath them regrouping—until the missile went off with a bang.

               Cyborg shouted out and swerved.  The missile whirled past them, trailing smoke, spiralling up in the air before exploding in a burst of golden flame.  Starfire hissed, gripping the edge of her seat in both hands as the T-Jet tipped and swayed, Cyborg desperately trying to right them, and also avoid the second missile already shooting at them.

               On the ground, two men crouched behind their cars, hefting missile launchers off their shoulders and frantically reloading.

               Cyborg cursed.  ‘Bats, you didn’t tell us the mob in Gotham City are _insane_!’

               A low, hoarse crackle sounded over the intercom, and Starfire’s head whirled because it sounded like Batman was _laughing_.

               ‘There’s nowhere to land here,’ Cyborg said.  ‘We need to retreat.’

               Starfire’s stomach swooped as the T-Jet banked up and away.  She reached for her seatbelt buckle.  ‘Let me out.  I do not require landing space.’

               ‘No!’  Batman barked.  ‘You can’t take Slade alone, much less Falcone as well.’  His voice softened.  ‘We go in together, Starfire, like we planned.’

               Starfire hissed, slumping back in her seat.  But Batman was right.

               She wouldn’t let Slade catch her alone again.  Wouldn’t let him beat her again.  Wouldn’t let him steal Robin from under her again.

               ‘Cyborg,’ Batman said, ‘set the jet to autopilot and hover out of range nearby.  The girls can fly you and Kid Flash to the ground.  Beast Boy can fly himself—’

               ‘Darn right!’ Beast Boy crowed.

               ‘Once we’re down,’ Batman said, a slightly harder edge in his tone, ‘everyone stick close to Raven.  With her powers, she can get in the building, grab Robin, and get out.  Then we guard her and Robin back to the jet.’

               ‘In and out, lightning fast,’ Wally said.  ‘I love it.’

               ‘On it.’  Cyborg pulled the T-Jet back further, over the trees, aiming up and towards the sun.

 _To throw off their aim,_ Starfire thought, watching Falcone’s men scramble about far below, trying to reload their handheld missile launchers.  It was a tactic she’d leaned on Tamaran—flying into the sun to blind your enemy.

               The Bat Jet, however, streaked down to the earth.  Starfire frowned.  What was he … ?

               ‘Wait for my signal,’ Batman said.  ‘Then move fast.’

               While the missile launchers frantically reloaded, the rest of Falcone’s men turned and fired their pistols wildly at the jet.  Bullets glanced off the black bodywork, creating showers of sparks.

               The Bat Jet hissed.

               And clouds of noxious smoke burst from underneath it.

 

* * *

 

Gunshots blasted outside, and Dick curled tighter over Tadpole, shielding her tiny body.

               At the window, Slade took quick, sharp shots at anyone stupid enough to get in range.  Over Tadpole’s wailing, Dick heard screams outside.  Screams, and the roars of jet engines.

               ‘Our friends are here,’ he murmured to Tadpole.  ‘It’s all gonna be OK.  I’ve got you.’

               But his heart was thundering, and his arms shook around her.

               At the window, Slade cracked open the magazine on his rifle and reloaded.  ‘I don’t know what your friends think they’re doing.’  He snapped the newly-filled magazine back in the gun, before taking a shot at some idiot who’d broken cover.  ‘They’re not much help hovering up there.’

               Slade ducked as another bullet crashed through his window.  Dick hissed, holding Tadpole too tight for a moment—her crying hitched and she threw her head back and punched out with her free arm.

               ‘Sorry,’ Dick whispered, relaxing his grip.  ‘Sorry.’

               Blood roared in his ears.  He tried to take a deep breath, but he felt like there were bands around his chest, growing tighter and tighter.  Like that first time he tried to run from Slade in the airport, and the mating bond choked him, dragging him back.

               Something outside hissed.  People shouted.

               Across the room, Slade’s back went rigid.  ‘What the—’  He jerked back.  ‘Shit!’

               He lunged to his feet, snatching his gun inside and slamming the windows closed.  He staggered back, gun in hand but held low, like he knew it wouldn’t be any good.

               ‘What happened?’ Dick breathed.  ‘What’s wrong?’

               ‘Your _Bat_ ,’ Slade spat, ‘just gassed us all.’

 

* * *

 

Falcone’s men stumbled back, shouting and waving their hands in front of their faces, trying to fan the smoke away.  As the hazy tendrils reached them, they doubled over, coughing and hacking.  Their guns clattered to the ground.  They fell to their knees.

               And one by one they disappeared, swallowed up in the smoke.

               High above, Starfire’s breath stuck in her throat.  What … what had Batman _done_?

               Batman’s voice burst over the intercom.  ‘The gas is only an irritant; it’ll fade in a few minutes.  It won’t disable them for long.  Go, now!’

               Even as he spoke, the roof of the Bat Jet hissed open, and he sprang out with cape unfurled.  The smoke twisted around him as he floated down, his mouth and nose covered with a gleaming black mask.  The Bat Jet, piloting on automatic, rose up over the trees as Batman disappeared into the smoke.

               Cyborg hit a button, and the pods on the T-Jet sprang open.  Starfire gasped as icy cold air blasted her from all sides.  She forced herself up and out, shooting for Wally.

               ‘Uhhh,’ Wally said, ‘what do we do if we forgot to bring gas masks?’

               Starfire looped her arms around him.  ‘Hold your breath!’

               She barely heard Wally’s squawk of indignation.  Yanking him up, she soared forwards and down, rocketing towards the clearing as fast as she could fly.  Beast Boy streaked alongside her, letting out an eagle shriek as he banked, aiming into the smoke.  Starfire glanced back, checking on Raven and Cyborg—just behind her.

               Then she gulped the deepest breath she could hold, and plunged into the smoke.

               She might as well have put on a blindfold.

               All she could see was swirling, hazy grey.  It stung her eyes, blurring her vision with tears.  Falcone’s cars rose suddenly in front of her, hulking dark shadows in the grey haze.  She veered up, shot over them, and then floated down again.  She set Wally on his feet and then turned a full circle, pressing a hand to her mouth to smother the urge to breathe.  Wings fluttered near her, and Beast Boy landed on her shoulder, his raptor eyes dark and blazing.  A shadow loomed in front of her, and she brought starbolts to her hands—but it was Cyborg, his red eye glowing through the smoke.  Raven floated at his side, hood drawn up over her face.

               Raven pressed her palms together as if in prayer, and then spread them wide.  A black orb swept out from her hands, pushing the smoke away.  It spread around them all, a bubble of clean air.

               Wally gasped first and loudest.  Then he said, ‘Where’s Bats?’

               Light rippled across the bubble, and Batman stepped inside.  ‘Put those out!’ he snapped, glaring at Starfire’s glowing hands.  ‘You’re like a beacon.’

               Starfire’s eyes widened.  She shook out her hands, extinguishing her starbolts—

               A moment too late.

               The bullet tore through Raven’s bubble with a sound like glass shattering.  Starfire yelped, turning on the spot, trying to spot the shooter though both Raven’s magic and the smoke.

               The black magic encasing them fluttered like feathers.

               Raven staggered, and Starfire whipped round, grabbing her by the shoulders.  For a moment, Raven hunched, her cloak swirling around her.  Then slowly, achingly, she slipped a shaking pale hand out of the folds of her cloak.

               Her palm glistened red with blood.

               ‘Oh,’ Raven whispered.

               She fell against Starfire, dead weight.

               The black shield of magic around them blinked like distant stars.

               And went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter where my first few attempts ended up in the shame bin. Still, I think (hope) it's turned out all right in the end. Sometimes, you've just got to bleed out the bad writing until something half decent comes out on deadline night at 11:30PM. :p


	53. Chapter 53

Dick choked, his core shaking as he sat upright.

               ‘What do you mean, _gassed_?’  He buckled sank back against the pillows.  His back throbbed.  His stomach ached as though he’d done a thousand crunches, rather than rocking gently over Tadpole.  ‘Slade?’

               Slade stared at the door, his jaw rippling as he ground his teeth.  Dick longed to climb out of bed and stand at his side, fists clenched, ready to help.  He couldn’t even summon the strength to sit up.

               ‘ _Slade,_ ’ he said again.

               And then he saw the tendrils creeping through the door.

               Dick’s breath hitched.  Wisps of grey haze slipped under the door, edging through the cracks around the frame like tentacles feeling their way inside.

               Choking gas.

               He’d seen Batman use it a million times.  Non-lethal, but painful as hell.  It burned your lungs, scorched your throat, seared your eyes …

               Tadpole shifted in Dick’s arms.

               _Tadpole._

               Premature.  Already weak.

               ‘Batman doesn’t know,’ Dick croaked.  ‘He doesn’t know about—about the baby.  Otherwise, he’d never— _never_ —’

               Slade turned, his eyes hard.  ‘He already has.’  Marching across the room, he snatched up one of the cleaner towels from the end of the bed, and tore it apart with a long, loud rip.  Then again.  Again.  He shoved the shredded pieces under the kitchen tap, rinsed them with a twist of his fists, and then swept to Dick’s side.  ‘Put one of these over your mouth, and one over the baby’s.’

               Dick spluttered.  ‘ _Slade!_ ’

               ‘Not tight,’ Slade said.  ‘Just enough to block the smoke.’  He glanced at the door.  ‘We’re getting out of here, while your friends have Falcone blind and distracted.’

               Dick’s head whirled.  When Slade pressed the strips of wet towel into his hand, Dick took them without thinking.  He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t get his thoughts lined up.  ‘I can’t—Starfire—the smoke—my friends are here to _help_ —’

               ‘Your friends have given a chance to escape Falcone.  Don’t waste it.’  Slade gripped Dick’s shoulders.  ‘You need a hospital, not a warzone.’  He glanced down Tadpole.  ‘Both of you.’

               Dick’s chest tightened.  He swallowed.  Nodded.

               Pressing a kiss into Dick’s hair, Slade straightened and tied a strip of towel around his own face.  Then he slid his arms under Dick’s body and hoisted him up bridal-style, Tadpole secure in Dick’s lap.  Dick wriggled until he could hold one scrap of towel over Tadpole’s mouth, and then slapped the other towel over his own face.

               He didn’t look up as Slade opened the front door with his elbow, revealing the car parked with its driver’s side door ready in front of them.  He didn’t look up as Slade hooked his foot under the car door handle and yanked that open.  He didn’t look up as Slade piled them all into the car, pushing Dick across into the passenger seat.

               Dick kept his eyes on Tadpole, through the swirling smoke.  Kept watching that tiny chest rise and fall.  Kept watching the towel flutter around her mouth.  Kept watched her breathe.  She hiccoughed and twisted her head, and he followed her, desperately keeping her mouth covered even as he tasted the bitter, stale smoke on his own tongue.

               But then Slade slammed the driver’s side door closed, and the car roared into life, and the smoke blasted past the windscreen as they tore away.

 

* * *

 

The world was still, and the smoke was creeping back in, and Beast Boy was shrieking, ‘RAVEN!’, and Starfire barely noticed any of it.  She was swimming.  Floating.  Head spinning.  Something nearby seemed to be roaring—one of Falcone’s cars, maybe, revving its engine, as if from miles away.

               She gasped a breath an instant before the smoke rolled in around her.

               In her arms, Raven’s head lolled.  Starfire sank to her knees, letting Raven down on the ground.  She squeezed Raven’s shoulder, wanting to speak to her, to tell her it was OK.

               Beast Boy doubled over, letting out huge hacking coughs as the smoke burned his lungs.  Batman swept up to him, pressing his gas mask to Beast Boy’s face long enough for Beast Boy to gasp a few deep breaths, and give a shaky thumbs-up.

               Eyes tight, Batman fixed the mask back to his own face.  ‘Beast Boy, get Raven out of here.  There’s a medical kit on the Bat Jet.  Alfred will talk you through it.’

               Pale-faced, Beast Boy nodded.  There was a green blur, and then he transformed into an enormous, black-eyed pterosaur.  Hunkering closer to Starfire, he stuck one leg out and gently closed his enormous claws around Raven’s body.  He stretched out his wings, beat downwards, and vanished up through the smoke.

               Smoke which was thinning.  Starfire got to her feet.  She could see further away now—to black wheels of one of Falcone’s cars on her right, and on her left …

               A dark, looming shape.  Wooden slats.

               _Robin._

               ‘We’ll have to blast through the door.’ Batman said, already marching towards the house; Starfire, Wally and Cyborg hurried to follow him.  ‘Starfire, you’re going to carry Robin out.  Everyone else, cover her.’

               Starfire nodded.  The smoke swirled, and now Starfire could see dark windows in the house.  Her heart quickened, and they were so close—so close—

               The door loomed in front of her, black and yawning and open.

               And open.

               And _open._

               Starfire stumbled.  Open.  The door wasn’t meant to be open.

               Bruce swept in first, and Starfire flew after him, lungs aching, eyes burning.

               Inside, the chalet was dark and cramped.  An empty kitchen.  An unmade bed.

               Starfire set her feet down, and Batman thrust his mask at her.  She pressed it to her face and gulped down huge breaths, as many as she could, before Wally came up at her shoulder.  She passed it back to him, heart sinking.

               As Wally took his own breaths, and then passed the mask to Cyborg, Starfire stared up at Batman.

_Robin isn’t here._

               Batman ignored her stare.  He crossed the room, to the unmade bed, and stooped to pick a towel off the floor.  He turned it over, and his face hardened.  Starfire took a step closer.

               And recoiled at the unmistakeable red-brown stains of blood.


	54. Chapter 54

Slade must’ve been able to see through the smoke better than Dick.

               He tore across bare earth, and then dark shapes loomed in front of them, and it wasn’t until they were inches off Slade’s hood that Dick realised they were Falcone’s cars, lined up nose-to-tail in a circle around the chalet.  The gap between cars was chest-crushingly tight, and despite his years flying through tight alleys with Bruce in the Batmobile, Dick yelped.

               But Slade whipped through the gap without so much as clipping a mirror, and then they hit the road.

               Dick pulled the towel off Tadpole’s mouth the instant they broke out of the smoke, tossing it on the dashboard with a wet splat.  He dropped his own scrap.  His chest was tight, lungs aching, and he realised belatedly he barely needed the towel—he’d held his breath the whole way out.

               In his arms, Tadpole wriggled and kicked, her face screwed up like she hadn’t quite decided if she wanted to start crying again.  Dick smoothed his hands over her head, murmuring, ‘Shh, shh,’ as she spluttered and hiccoughed.  Gradually, she relaxed, her eyelids fluttering before they closed in sleep.

               A tiny, hysterical noise bubbled up in Dick’s throat.  He tried to choke it off, and ended up letting out a tiny, wet sort of sob.

               Slade glanced across at him, tugging his own towel down from his mouth.  Outside, lines of trees whipped past, letting sunlight burst between their branches.  ‘Are you hurt?’

               ‘She’s asleep,’ Dick croaked.

               Asleep, in a car thundering a hundred miles an hour down a country road with bullet holes in the passenger door.  It was as if she knew things were OK.  That she was safe.

               ‘I'll take you to Gotham West,’ Slade said.  ‘It’s a few hours, but I have contacts there.  I can pull some strings; make sure we aren’t separated.’  He glanced sideways at Dick.  ‘You just have to tell them what you told me.  Tell them you need to stay with me.’

               Dick nodded wearily.  Yes.  Stay with Alpha.  Stay with Slade.  His chin dipped against his chest.  And god, he was so tired.  Too tired to be scared of Falcon behind them.  Too scared to be glad of the hospital up ahead.  _I want to stay with Slade._ He had to ... he had to ...

               Slade cursed, and Dick’s head snapped up.

               Tyres crunched on the dirt road as Slade slammed on the brakes, jerking Dick forward in his seat.  Dick gasped, hugging Tadpole close with aching arms as she grumbled in her sleep.

               Up ahead, cars gleamed on the road.

               For a moment, lights flashed in Dick’s eyes, and he imagined black and white cruisers, boxy and broad, blue lights whirling on their roofs.  He halfway smiled.

               But then he blinked, and the flashing lights burst like stars behind his closed lids, and when he opened his eyes they were gone.  Instead, Falcone’s sleek, black vehicles lined the road up ahead.

               Dick sank back in his seat.

               Slade stared at cars, his jaw tight, his single eye narrowed.

               He turned the wheel, and drove off the road into the woods.

               Dick turned in his seat, eyes wide as the black cars growled to life, and sped up the road after them.

 

* * *

 

Starfire tore out the house and up into the air.  Up and up and up, out of the smoke, over the trees, into the bitter winter sky, until the air was clean enough to breathe but cold enough to make her gasp.  To stop her screaming.

               Blood.  Blood on the towels and blood on the sheets and even though she hadn’t breathed it in she could smell it, could _taste_ it.  Her head spun and her fingers stung and Robin was _hurt_ and she couldn’t—

               No.

               Not hurt.

               Starfire stilled.  Far below her, the smoke sank into the ground.  It was only shoulder-high as Batman and Wally and Cyborg hurried out the house, racing back to the jets behind Falcone’s ring of cars.  Falcone’s men staggered to their feet, clinging to the car mirrors and to each other for balance as their coughing subsided.  As they took in the open chalet door.  As they whirled on Batman and the Titans.

               The video Slade had sent flashed through Starfire’s mind, over and over, like all those hours of security footage she’d watched, searching for Robin and Slade from hundreds miles above on the League Satellite.

               The sweat shining on Robin’s face.  The exhausted smile.  His legs curled up, hiding his belly, and the way he shifted his arms, as though he meant to show them something, before Slade cut the video off.

               As though he meant to show them ...

               _A child._

               Starfire let out a breath.  Oh.  _Oh._

               Which meant that Slade, and Robin, and their child were now racing away through the woods.  And if Slade was protective before ...

               Below, Falcone’s cars screamed away from the chalet, down the road back through the woods.  A little higher up, still below Starfire, the Bat Jet and the T-Jet whirred to life as their respective pilots took up the controls.

               And in the distance, a lonely black car turned off the road and into the woods.

               Followed by more of Falcone’s cars, like a pack of wolves tearing after a rabbit.

               Starfire didn’t think.  The jets were fast, but they couldn’t fit between the trees.  Whipping her communicator off her hip, she dialled the T-Jet’s comms line with a tap of her finger.

               ‘I see them.  Fly close above me.’

               She didn’t wait for Cyborg’s response.  She tore off for  the trees, wind tearing her hair behind her, racing Falcone into the woods.

 

* * *

 

The car crashed through the trees.  Dick yanked his seatbelt on, tucking Tadpole into the strap around his body.  She squirmed and he held her close, like a child clutching a teddy bear.  Twigs whipped across the windows, and a branch hit the windscreen with a crack like a gunshot, loud enough to start Tadpole up screaming again.

               Dick wanted to scream along with her.  He squeezed his eyes closed, cradled her tiny head, and murmured softly.  Not even words; just sounds.  Just his voice, low and quiet, trying to be soothing while his heart hammered and his head whirled.

               The front wheel on Slade’s side hit a rock or a root, and Slade snarled as the car lurched up at an angle.  The wheel slammed back down, and Tadpole wailed as she jolted in Dick’s arms.

               Behind them, Falcone’s cars seemed to have no problem navigating the woods.  They burst through the frosty trees, engines snarling, black paint glimmering, like enormous armoured insects swarming around their prey.  Slade veered around a fallen tree, and Dick’s stomach lurched.

               If only he had his birderangs.  Or the strength to throw them.  He could’ve taken out their windscreens easily.  Thrown a timed explosive under their wheels.  Or even just a smoke bomb, small and brief, but enough to disorient them, to make them fall behind …

               Tadpole kicked, her little foot digging hard into his stomach.

               Dick looked up.

               And saw the black car swing in front of them at the same moment Slade did.

               Slade cursed, wrenching the wheel.  Gunshots cracked through the air and the car swerved, tyres skidding on the frosty ground, and the trunk slammed into a fat oak tree.  Pain stabbed through Dick’s chest, a brief and sharp feeling like muscles tearing.  The car groaned and stalled with a loud, pathetic sound like a cough.

               And Falcone’s car circled, like vultures.

               Bent over double, Slade gasped a long, wheezing breath, as if he’d slammed too hard against the wheel and had the wind knocked out of him.  One of his arms was still on the wheel, his fingers visibly trembling.  He curled his fist.

               Dick swallowed.  His throat was dry as sand.  ‘Do you …’  He hesitated, stomach coiling, hating having to ask.  ‘Do you have a gun?’

               Slade didn’t answer.  His face was the colour of curdled milk.

               A tiny nod.  Dick sat back, Tadpole squalling and squirming in his arms.  ‘Oh.’  He couldn’t move.  Couldn’t lift himself out of his seat, even if he wanted to.  ‘Oh.’

               ‘Dick,’ Slade whispered.  The word was strained, forced out through gritted teeth.  Slowly, shakily, he sat up.  He kept his hand pressed to his chest.

               And blood spilled between his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear these cliffhangers will be coming to an end soon. Because the fic is nearly, NEARLY finished. Honestly. I'm so close. ;___;


	55. Chapter 55

               The world shrank to a grey haze.

               _Hurt._

               Dick couldn’t breathe.

               _Slade is hurt._

               He reached out with one, shaking hand, and touched Slade’s arm.

               _Alpha is hurt._

               Slade’s single eye flicked up to meet his panicked stare.  ‘I’m … fine.’

               His lips parted to force the words out, but his teeth remained gritted.

               Dick shook his head.

               _Alpha is hurt, Alpha is hurt, ALPHA IS HURT._

               Movement flashed at the edge of his vision.  Up ahead, on Dick’s side of the car, a couple of Falcone’s men stepped out of their car.  They raised their guns.

               With a deathly groan, Slade lurched across the gap between seats, clicked Dick’s seatbelt free, and dragged him across the car.  They fell out the door on Slade’s side together, Tadpole bundled between them, just as a bullet crashed through the passenger window.

               ‘Slade,’ Dick croaked.

               ‘I won’t let them have you.’  Slade’s voice was hoarse.  He pressed Dick close against the car, curling over both Dick and Tadpole, shielding them from Falcone’s men.

               Men who now rapidly approached from all sides.

               Wetness spread across the back of Dick’s arms.  Blood.  Slade's blood.

               ‘You’re mine,’ Slade breathed.  ‘My omega.  I won’t let them—’

               Footsteps crunched across the ground, closer and closer.  And Dick couldn’t move and he couldn’t move, and a gun flashed near Slade’s shoulder, and Slade put a hand behind Dick’s head and pressed his face into Slade’s chest.  Dick wanted to have a plan.  Wanted to tuck Tadpole under his arm and leap into action, kicking and spinning and whirling his bo staff.  But his bones were lead and his skin was paper and the lights were flashing in his eyes again, sparking like fireworks—

               Slade rocked to his feet and whirled, slamming his fist up under the man’s chin.  He snapped a kick into the man’s knees, and the man toppled, but another man reached his side and his gun flashed and erupted with smoke—

               The gun burst into radiant green flame.

               A man screamed, and Dick’s breath hitched, Slade staggered back, snarling.

               Dick shook himself.  And it was still there.  Green flame.

               Men were diving to the ground, shouting, turning their guns upwards.  Because the sky was falling; stars blistering through the trees and crashing to the earth in balls of fire, shredding through the cars with metallic screams.

               Starfire came down through the trees, hair flaming behind her like a war banner, eyes burning so bright it hurt to look at her.  She screamed, and threw starbolts over Dick’s head at the cars behind him.  He heard them strike, like mountains crashing to the earth.

               Lifting her chin, Starfire spread her arms open as her eyes blazed, and she sent twin starbolts lashing out of them, turning in a circle with the easy grace of a dancer to sweep the green flames in a wide circle around Slade’s car.

               Finally, she dropped to the ground, and walked towards them, an avenging angel wreathed in alien light.

               Slade didn’t move, his feet planted in front of Dick.  Still shielding him.

               Dick reached out to touch his ankle.  ‘It’s OK.  Slade, it’s OK.’

               Starfire stopped a few paces back, her face hard.  ‘Robin?’

               Slade turned to look over his shoulder at Dick, his face ash-white.

               A second patch of blood blossomed through his shirt, across his ribs on the right side.

               Slade turned halfway back to Starfire before his legs buckled, and he slumped into the dirt.

               ‘No!’  Dick lurched forward on his knees, clinging to Tadpole as she writhed and wailed.  ‘Slade!’

               Slade’s eye was open, his chest heaving up and down with heavy, laboured breaths.  ‘I’ll be fine.’  He reached out, gripping Dick’s arm.  ‘I’ve got you.’

               A loud crack drew his eyes away.  Standing over them, Starfire whirled; Dick followed her gaze into the woods, and heard the familiar snarl of car engines.

               Falcone’s men—the rest of them, from the chalet.  Drawing closer.

               Dick gulped a breath.  Tadpole punched out, catching his shoulder with her tiny, feeble little fist.  He looked down at her.  Then at Slade.

               Slade stared back up at him, his jaw tight, his eye creased.  He moved his arms, trying to push himself up, but then hissed and dropped onto his back again.  Dick touched his shoulder.  Soft.  Reassuring.

               And forced himself to his feet.

               It felt like lifting a mountain.  His legs shook.  His bones threatened to crumble.  Slade’s touch slid to his elbow, and then fell away as Dick took a step.  Another.

               ‘Star.’

               She turned back to him, and he fell into her.  Gasping, Starfire reached out to catch him, but instead Dick thrust Tadpole into her arms.

               ‘Take her,’ he gasped.  ‘Take her someplace safe.’

               Starfire’s arms curled around the tiny body as if on automatic.  But she didn’t move.  ‘Robin—’

               Behind her, black metal glistened distantly between the trees.

               ‘Please, _please_ , Star.’  Robin staggered back, even though it made his chest ache.  Even though every instinct screamed at him to snatch Tadpole back.  ‘Don’t let her die.’

               Starfire’s eyes creased.  The blazing green fogged with tears.

               An engine snarled.  So close.  So close and coming closer.

               ‘Fly!’ Dick choked. ‘ _Fly now!_ ’

               Starfire rose off the ground.  ‘I will come back for you.’

               Dick nodded, numb.

_No, you won’t.  You won’t have time._

               But that was OK.

               For just one more second, Starfire stared down at him, face twisted in agony.  Then she pressed Tadpole close to her body, and tore away up through the trees, into the blinding patch of blue between branches.

               Dick’s legs folded beneath him.

               He hit the ground on his side, head lolling, muscles like tissue paper.  For a moment, he lay gasping, staring up at the swaying skeletal branches.  As though, if he stared hard enough, he’d see Tadpole up there somewhere, tucked safe and warm in the T-Jet with Starfire’s arms around her.

               She’d be safe.  And it hurt, fuck, it hurt, but she’d be safe.  She’d grow up in Wayne Manor, like Dick imagined, in the library with the crackling fireplace, curled up in the big armchair with Bruce.  And she’d be happy.  She’d be fine.

               Groaning, Dick rolled onto his stomach.

               Slade lay barely a few feet away, but crawling up to him felt like trying to pull up the whole forest by its roots.  Arm.  Leg.  Arm Leg.  Dick gasped and panted, sweat dripping cold down his forehead.  Slade turned his head, and then heaved his body round with a groan, reaching out for him.

               Dick collapsed in the crook of Slade’s arm.  ‘Star’s got her.  She’s … she’s gonna …’

               ‘I know.’  Slade pressed a kiss to the top of Dick’s head.

               Dick was too tired to sob.

               Tyres screeched around them.  Dick closed his eyes, and tried to imagine they were in bed in the warm cabin in the woods.  Imagined a golden morning, where there was no virus tearing through his body and no scars on his neck from long-healed bites.  Where he said he couldn’t wait for Bruce to meet their daughter, and Slade smiled and kissed him and said yes, yes me too.

               A car door slammed.

               Dick squeezed his eyes closed tighter.  Held his breath.

               Arms curled around his body, and he scraped up the last of his strength and twisted and shrieked, swinging his fists as they pulled him up and up and up—

               ‘It is me!  Robin, it is me!  It is Starfire, _stop_!’

               Robin stilled, gasping, chest aching.  Starfire gripped him tighter against her body, bridal-style.  She was so small, her arms bony and thin, but she felt as strong as Slade ever had.

_Slade._

               Dick twisted, staring down as his chest tightened.  Slade lay sprawled in the dirt, arms shaking as he struggled to push himself up.  To face Falcone on his feet.

_No, no, no.  Not to be separated.  Have to stay with Alpha._

               ‘Star,’ Dick gasped.  ‘Star, go back.  _Go back!_ ’

               Below, Falcone’s men stepped out of their cars, circling Slade as he staggered to his feet.  He looked up at Dick, face white, single eye dark.  Dark, and tired, and triumphant.

               ‘ _Starfire!_ ’ Dick shrieked, reaching back over her shoulder.  She grunted, but only gripped him tighter.  Flew faster.  Slade shrank away below them.

               A low, broken, croaking laugh rattled out of Slade’s chest.  ‘You can’t have him.’  And he was shrinking and laughing and shrinking, still watching Dick as one of Falcone’s men stepped forward.  Raised his gun.  ‘Dick Grayson is mine.’

               ‘ _No!_ ’ Dick screamed.  ‘ _No, Slade!  SLADE!_ ’

               Starfire burst up out of the trees and into the cold blue sky.

               And one final gunshot shattered Dick like glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna go ... hide in a nuclear bunker ... until Thursday. 😬
> 
> Ohgoshpleasedon'tkillmeI'msosorryIloveyouall. <3


	56. Chapter 56

Pain.  Sharp, tearing, obliterating pain.

               Dick choked.  He couldn’t breathe.  Couldn’t move.  He fell limp in Starfire’s arms, struggling to gasp tiny, desperate sips of air.  His lungs burned, but it was nothing next to the burning in his chest.  His heart was shredded up like paper.  Searing like red coals.  Bleeding away into nothing—nothing but a deep, black emptiness behind his ribs.

               Cold wind bit at his skin, and then the T-Jet glimmered up ahead, and blurred as tears slipped from Dick’s eyes.  He shuddered and gasped, but couldn’t draw enough air to sob.

_Broken._

               Starfire folded them both into her own pod on the jet’s wing.  Holding Dick close with one arm, as if afraid he’d leap out if she let go, she reached up and tugged the pod closed.

               Cyborg’s voice crackled over the intercom.  ‘Star?’

               She picked up her headset, not putting it on but holding the microphone to her mouth.  ‘Go.’

               ‘What about—’

               ‘Just go.’

               Dick shuddered.  Sweat soaked through the bathrobe he was still wearing, cool and sticky on his back, but he felt cold.  Cold and empty and—

_Broken._

               The jet fired up, and Dick fell back against Starfire as they streaked away through the air.  She chafed his arm, murmuring something he didn’t hear.  The pain in his heart was blistering.  Every second, he thought it had to be over soon.  Because there couldn’t be anything left.  Nothing, surely, but scraps and ashes.  But with each tiny, desperate gasp, it started fresh, as sharp and bitter as before.  And he knew why.

_The mating bond’s broken._

               With an almighty surge of panic, Dick gasped a deep, full-lunged breath.

               And let it out in a scream

 

* * *

 

Pain.  Sobbing and screaming.  The sky growing dark.  Starfire’s arms, warm and thin and gentle around him.

               Dick slumped against her, worn ragged, drained of everything but the constant, throbbing ache in his chest.  ‘Where’s my daughter?’  The words were sore as blisters.

               ‘Wally has her,’ Starfire said.  ‘She’s safe.’

               _Wally?_   Dick blinked, peering out the windscreen.  Up at the front of the jet, in the pod where he used to sit a million years ago when he was still Robin, a familiar yellow uniform turned and waved.  The bundle in his arms squirmed.

               ‘Kid … Flash?’ Dick croaked.

               Across the ship, Kid Flash pointed at the headset over his ears.  Starfire plucked up her own headset again, but pressed it into Dick’s hands.  He pulled it on.

               ‘Hey Robin!’ Kid Flash said brightly.  ‘This kid is adorable.  You know I’m not giving her back, right?’

               If Dick had any energy at all, he might have laughed.  Maybe.  ‘She’s needs a hospital.’

_And so do I._

               ‘That’s where we’re heading.’  Cyborg’s voice came up over the intercom.  ‘Don’t worry, man.  We got you.’

               Dick nodded, realised they couldn’t see it, and tugged the headset off.  He wanted Tadpole in his arms.  He wanted the pain in his chest to stop.

               He wanted Slade.

 

* * *

 

Dick wasn’t sure when they landed, because time didn’t matter anymore.  Everything was divided up into _Before Pain_ and _Now_ , and if anything else ever existed it was a haze.

               Starfire lifted him out the jet and set him on his feet.  The hospital loomed overhead, a squat and sturdy as a storm shelter, warm yellow lights glowing through its open doors.  Kid Flash hopped down from the jet with Tadpole in his arms, as if she weighed nothing at all, and holding her was second nature.  He zipped to Dick’s side faster than Dick could see.

               Dick bent over Tadpole, legs shaking, and he knew he’d collapse if not for Starfire’s arm at his waist.  Tadpole was asleep, dreaming colourful little baby dreams, her pink mouth hanging open.

               ‘I can’t carry her,’ Dick breathed, although he wanted nothing more in the world than to snatch her out of Kid Flash’s arms, and never let her go again.  His arms were heavy as lead.

               ‘S’cool, man, I’ve got her,’ Kid Flash replied.  ‘I told you I’m not giving her back.’

               Dick tried to smile, but judging from Kid Flash’s knitted brow, it wasn’t convincing.

               An engine roared above them, and a second jet sailed down and landed feather-light on the tarmac.  It gleamed, black and sleek.  Dick leaned into Starfire, weak all over again.  He knew that jet.

               Beast Boy clambered out first, in a huge, hulking gorilla shape.  Dick frowned, glancing back up at the T-Jet, where Cyborg now clambered down from the pilot’s seat.  Why hadn’t Beast Boy flown with them?  And where was … ?

               He recognised the crumpled form in Beast Boy’s arms.

               And his stomach turned to lead.

               ‘Raven?’

               Beast Boy grunted.  He leaned down to butt his head against Dick’s, then headed for the hospital doors at a loping gallop.

               ‘She will be all right.’  Starfire squeezed his waist, and Dick was half convinced.

               Another figure stepped out the jet.

               Cloak swirling, shoulders hunched, Batman melted into the shadow of the Jet.

               He stared at Dick.  Behind the cowl, Bruce’s face was ash-grey.  His eyes were blotchy red, as though he hadn’t slept in weeks.  He stepped closer, and on instinct Dick straightened, lifting his chin.  His body shook.

               Bruce glanced at the baby in Kid Flash’s arms, and then looked back at Dick, his eyes creasing.  ‘Robin …’

               Starfire slid her arm hesitantly out from around Dick’s waist.  Dick’s heart throbbed and he wanted to smile but he couldn’t find the muscles in his face, so he just stared and stared, until Bruce reached out, and folded him into a warm, dark hug.

               ‘I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.’

               The rough scratch of Bruce’s black cape against his cheek.  The hard planes of Bruce’s armour against his body.  The scent of Bruce’s aftershave.  And pain, and pain, and pain.

 

* * *

 

Dick was probably sleeping when Starfire knocked softly on the hospital door and stepped inside.

               _Probably_ , because it was hard to know when he was awake.  The cure for the omega virus made his body ache and his head feel light and fluffy, like he’d stuffed his skull with raw cotton.

               He turned his head and Tadpole shifted against his body.  And ah.  Yes, this time, he was awake.

               His heart didn’t hurt when he dreamed.

               ‘Hey,’ he murmured, running a hand over his eyes to chase away sleep.

               Starfire settled in the chair next to his bed.  ‘Hello Ro—’  She caught herself.  ‘Dick.’

               In unison, they glanced at the security camera in the corner of Dick’s hospital room.  The place was plush and private, all funded out of Bruce’s pocket.  Dick was glad.  He couldn’t stand people right now.  Not many of them, anyway.

               He’d got used to the quiet of just two people in one big house.

               Another pang went through his chest.  He winced.

               The nurses said the pain would ease off, eventually.  Just like it eased off when the mating bond was first created, when Slade first bit him—

               A sharper slice.  Dick hissed.

               ‘You are in pain.’  Starfire made to stand.  ‘I will call the nurse.’

               ‘No.’  Dick touched her arm.  ‘Don’t leave.’

               She settled back in her seat.

               Sensing Dick had woken up, Tadpole shifted again, letting out little discontented mumbles.  Dick ran a hand up and down her back.  She was tucked inside his hoodie, skin-to-skin against his chest.

               Starfire smiled.  ‘She is finally well enough to leave the incubator.’

               ‘Just for a while.’  Dick touched Tadpole’s tiny head, wrapped in a bobbly, knitted hat.  Plastic tubes poked out of her snub nose.  ‘As long as I keep her warm.’

               Starfire reached out, then hesitated.

               ‘S’OK,’ Dick murmured.  ‘She doesn’t bite.’

               Laughing softly, Starfire traced a finger over the back of Tadpole’s tiny, clenched fist.  Tadpole stretched out her fingers, and Starfire obligingly poked her finger into Tadpole’s grasp.  She gripped it, pulling Starfire in closer.

               ‘Doctors say she’s an alpha,’ Dick murmured.  ‘Or I guess she will be, when she’s older.  Like—’

               _Like Slade._

               Another sharp cut into his heart.

               Starfire looked away, her jaw set.  ‘I am sorry.’  But her tone was stiff.  Insincere.

               ‘No you’re not.’  Dick sighed.  ‘No one is.  I shouldn’t be.’

               _He kidnapped me.  Bit me.  Hurt me.  Raped me._

               But …

               Dick swallowed.  ‘He might … he might still be alive, you know?  He can heal.’  He stared at Starfire, and she didn’t look up.  ‘Right?’

               ‘Mm,’ Starfire said.  Unconvinced.  Or hoping he was wrong.  She wiggled her finger in Tadpole’s grasp.  ‘Have you chosen a name for her?’

               Dick grimaced, and gave a weak laugh.  ‘I’ve uh … I’ve been calling her Tadpole.’

               Starfire’s brow knitted, and she glanced between him and Tadpole, and finally snorted with laughter.  ‘She is much too large for a tadpole.’

               ‘Yeah.’  Dick patted Tadpole’s back.  ‘I guess she’s a big old frog now.’

               Starfire swatted his arm.  ‘Don’t you dare!  I will not allow you to name her Frog!’  But there was a gleam in her eyes.  She leaned in conspiratorially.  ‘She is clearly a Glurk.’

               Dick laughed, and it was so unexpected, he laughed again at the fact he was laughing.  Starfire leaned in closer, knocking their heads together, the way she used to in Titan’s Tower when they were curled up alone, watching a movie.

               Cold spread through Dick’s body.  He flinched.

               Starfire drew back, eyes darting away.

               Guilt flooded through him, hot and prickly.  ‘I’m—I’m sorry.’

               But Starfire only reached out and cupped her hand around Tadpole’s head.  ‘Do not worry.’

               ‘I just—’

               ‘I know.’

               Dick sank against his pillows.  He stroked Tadpole’s head.  She settled down her fussing, big dark eyes closing as she nestled up to his chest, Starfire’s finger still clenched in her fist.

               ‘Mary,’ he said.

               Starfire looked up.

               ‘I was gonna call her Mary.’  He tilted his head.  ‘It was my mom’s name.’

               Starfire was quiet for a long time, staring down at Tadpole as though absorbing the new name, trying to connect it with the tiny creature curled up on Dick’s chest.

               Dick flushed.  ‘Or not.  Maybe it’s a bit—’

               ‘We have a similar name on Tamaran,’ Starfire said.  ‘Mar’i.  She was a famous warrior, long ago.’  She looked up.  ‘It’s a good name.’

               Dick smiled.  ‘Mar’i, then.’

               When Starfire leaned in a second time, and laid her head on his shoulder, he didn’t flinch away.  He closed his eyes, and let her warmth seep into his body, and tried to imagine the ache in his chest was fading away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end ... still a little more to come. :)


	57. Chapter 57

Dick was in Wayne Manor for weeks before any of it seemed real.

               Spring crept into Gotham, turning the frost into rain.  Dick sat in the library with the fireplace crackling and storms pounding on the window, staring vacantly into the flames.  Shaking himself.  Waiting to wake up.  In his lap, Mar’i happily chugged at her bottle.

               He didn’t know where he’d be, when this dream melted away.  Maybe back in the hospital, machines beeping and hissing around him, staring at Mar’i through a glass case.  Or in the cabin in the woods, Slade dozing beside him, his outstretched arm heavy over Dick’s chest.  Or back in the car, sweating and trembling and waiting for Falcone to find them, or the Titans, or the cops.

               Someone rapped on the door, and smart footsteps clicked across the library.  Dick looked up as Bruce crossed the library, Dick’s communicator in his hand.

               Dick’s stomach sank.

               Most nights, Bruce wasn’t around.  Gotham had already gone too long without its Batman, and Falcone wasn’t the only bastard to take advantage of the omega virus.  Dick listened to Bruce’s reports as if they were fairy stories.  Penguin’s iron grip on Gotham’s west side.  Scarecrow pumping fear gas through downtown.  Arkham breakouts as infected and immune alike rioted inside its walls.  Starfire went out with Bruce some nights, when Dick was too tired and hurt to do anything but sit with Mar’i and sleep.

               ‘Dick.’  Bruce held out the communicator.  ‘Your friends called you.’

               ‘Oh.’  Dick tried to look surprised as he took the communicator.  ‘I didn’t hear it go off.’

                Bruce arched an eyebrow.  ‘Probably because it was switched off, and buried in the basement behind the washing machine.  Alfred dug it out.’

               Dick lowered his gaze, turning the communicator over and over in his hand.  Not opening it.  Mar’i squirmed, tugging at her bottle.

               Sighing, Bruce took a seat at the fire across from Dick.  ‘You don’t want to speak to them.’

               ‘Sure I do.’  Dick swallowed.  ‘They’re my friends.  They _rescued_ me.’

               ‘But you’re unhappy.’

               Dick curled his shoulders.  Opened his mouth to deny it.

               Couldn’t

               Because he _was_ unhappy.  And it wasn’t fair.

               He was safe.  He was healthy.  He had Mar’i and Starfire and Bruce and Alfred, and the Titans called him every day from Jump City.  He could leave the house whenever he wanted.  Go wherever he wanted.  He was _free_.

               And yet …

               ‘Slade,’ he mumbled.

               ‘You miss him.’

               Dick looked up sharply.  Bruce’s expression was smooth—but only, it seemed, through an exceptional force of will.  Dick wondered if he was secretly angry, or disgusted, or disappointed.  Or afraid.

               Snorting, Dick looked back into the fire.  ‘I guess I have, I dunno, Stockholm Syndrome or something, right?  I guess he fucked me up in the head.’

               ‘Language,’ Bruce rebuked, but half-heartedly.  He sighed.  ‘Dick, after all Slade did to you …’

               ‘I know,’ Dick mumbled.  His throat tightened.  And Bruce still sat there, warm and implacable.  And maybe it was the smell of old books or the crackle of the fire, or Mar’i’s weight on his lap, but suddenly words were pouring out of him.  ‘I just want him to be alive.  I should hate him.  I should be wishing bloody vengeance on him and I’m not.’  He choked, the room fading to an orange blur.  He tried not to blink.  Not to let the tears fall.  ‘And that’s—that’s just—it’s _insane_ —it’s _wrong_.’

               Bruce was out of his seat before Dick noticed, and pulling him into a hug.  He included Mar’i, folding her in between the two of them, and pulled Dick’s head in against his shoulder.  Dick took a shaky breath, and Bruce slid his arms away.  ‘It’s not _wrong_ to wish someone hadn’t died.  It’s right.  Noble, even.’  He squeezed Dick’s shoulder.  ‘Even Slade.’

               Dick nodded.  He felt drained.  Grey.  ‘I’ll call the Titans back,’ he sighed.  ‘I guess Raven might be off her crutches now.’

               She’d sent regular snaps of her recovery.  Or rather, Beast Boy had sent regular snaps, of Raven looking dark-eyed and long-suffering, unable to escape his camera from her hospital bed.

               Bruce smiled, but it was tight and thin and worried.  ‘Good idea.’  He patted Mar’i on the head, and touched Dick’s shoulder again, and left him alone in the library.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Dick was curled on the sofa with Starfire and Mar’i when the doorbell rang.

               He didn’t look up from the TV.  Bruce was away—it was late morning, so he was probably grinding through meetings at Wayne Enterprises rather than cracking skulls on the streets—and Alfred generally chased away reporters with a polite threat and a raised eyebrow.  In Dick’s arms, Mar'i gummed industriously at a set of plastic keys.

               Soft, female voices echoed down the hallway.  Then Alfred’s response, warm and welcoming.  Footsteps tapped across the floor.  Dick lifted his head.  Alfred wouldn’t invite reporters inside.

               He glanced at Starfire.  She clicked off the TV with a touch of the remote, avoiding his eyes.

               ‘Star …’ Dick murmured.

               Before she could answer, Alfred knocked on the door and opened it with a quiet click.  ‘Visitors for you, Master Dick.’

               Dick swivelled to look at them.

               And shot to his feet.

               Mar'i dropped her plastic keys, hiccoughed in surprise, and wailed.  She kicked at Dick’s chest as he clutched her close, backing up across the room, heart thudding.

               In the doorway, Harley Quinn beamed at him.  ‘Hey, kid!’

               No makeup.  No red and black suit.  But it was unmistakeably her.  Her blonde hair was pushed back, her eyes shining behind thick, black-rimmed glasses.  Another woman stepped in behind her, and Dick’s stomach somersaulted, the room spinning wildly.  Poison Ivy gave him a thin smile.

               ‘What’ve you done to Alfred?’ Dick hissed.

               He glanced them up and down.  No mallet.  No creeping vines.  Harley wore a baggy sweater, and Ivy’s usual strategically placed leaves were gone in favour of a blouse and jeans.

               And then … and then his brain stalled.  Because hooked on Ivy’s elbow was a plastic baby carrier.  His arms tightened around Mar'i before he realised there was already a baby in it.  A baby bundled in pink blankets.  She blinked up at him with huge blue eyes, as if baffled by his behaviour.

               ‘Uhhh …’ Harley glanced at Ivy over her shoulder.  ‘Met him at the door?  Relax, kid, we were invited.’

               Starfire rose from the couch, crossed the room and touched Dick’s elbow.  ‘Harley was also part of the omega programme,’ she murmured.  ‘Ivy is her alpha.’

               Harley lifted her chin, beaming.  ‘We’re certified reformed citizens now.  Ivy don’t even sick her giant Venus fly traps on visitors no more.’

               Ivy twisted her mouth, as though she did _not_ consider this to be one of the finer points of reformed life.

               Dick swallowed, his eyes flicking between the two of them.  If not for Mar’i, he’d have jumped for the window.

               Starfire gently prised Mar’i from his arms.  She stooped to pick up Mar’i’s plastic keys and offered them to her.  Ma’ri delightedly stuffed them back in her mouth.

               ‘It is all right,’ Starfire said softly, leaning her head against Dick’s.  ‘I would not let anyone hurt you, or Mar’i.’

               The word _again_ floated at the end of her sentence, unspoken.

               Harley stuck her hands on her hips, glancing between Starfire and Ivy.  ‘How about you two alpha girls take a walk with the babies?  Go look at the gardens or something.’  She waved a hand.  ‘You’re both pretty redheads, I betcha got tons in common.’

               Dick took a breath to argue, but Starfire was already heading out the room.  She nodded cordially at Ivy as the two of them slipped away down the corridor.

               Harley leaned back through the doorway to watch them go.  Then she grinned, crossed the room in two bounding steps, and slumped on the sofa with a contented sigh.  ‘Man, this is the good life!  Mister Wayne practically lives in a palace, huh?’

               Dick remained several paces away, fists clenched.  This was a trick.  Ivy must’ve drugged Alfred at the door and—and—

               But then, why was Starfire so calm?

               Why had they brought a _baby_ with them?

               ‘What do you want, Harley?’ he snapped.

               Harley raised her eyebrows.  ‘What, I can’t drop in and visit an old friend?’  She crossed her legs, laced her hands and hooked them around her knee, looking up at the ceiling wistfully.  ‘So many memories.  Me, tying you to a chair.  You, getting free and kicking the shit outta me.  Good times.’

               Dick’s heart thudded.  Mar’i.  He wanted Mar’i here, with him.  Not outside with Starfire and Ivy.  Ivy, who could hypnotise people with a whiff of her perfume.  Who could kill them with a kiss.  Starfire hadn’t been in Gotham that long.  She didn’t _know_.

               He lurched for the door.

               ‘OK, OK!’ Harley said.  ‘No bullshit.  Bruce sent me.’

               Dick’s legs almost folded under him.  He whirled, one foot halfway through the door.  ‘ _Bruce?_ ’

               Harley’s expression had changed.  The broad grin was gone, and without it she looked older.  Her shoulders sloped.  ‘He’s a good man, Bruce Wayne.  Y’know he funded my rehab in Arkham?’  She shrugged.  ‘Of course, I relapsed the day I got released.  But it was a nice thought.  He believed in me.’  Her lips twisted in a smile, and it was more like Ivy’s smile, thin and wry.  ‘And then when the omega programme went down the can, he got Ivy good lawyers.  Made sure she didn’t end up in the slammer with those other alphas.’  She shrugged.  ‘Guess I didn’t do Bruce proud back in the day, so I thought I’d try and pay him back now.  Since I’m actually reformed this time.’  Harley stared at Dick with open, pleading eyes.  She lowered her voice.  ‘Really, I am.  Ivy, too.  We just wanna be a family.  Be happy.’

               Feeling like he was heaving a lead weight behind him, Dick stepped back in the room.  He leaned against the back of Alfred’s favourite armchair.  ‘Why are you here?’

               ‘I guess Bruce thought I could talk to you.’  Harley shrugged again.  She swept a hand through loose wisps of her hair.  ‘I guess he thought maybe you’d feel better, if you knew you weren’t the only sucker to fall in love with an abuser.’

               Cold spread through Dick’s body.  He tried— _tried_ —not to think about him.  Tried to let the whole omega programme fade into one nightmarish haze.  Tried to forget Slade’s voice and Slade’s warmth and Slade’s scent making his head spin …

               ‘Mister J sure messed me up good,’ Harley said softly.  ‘I guess for you, it was Mister S.’

               ‘It’s not the same,’ Dick snapped.

               ‘Sure it is.’

               ‘Get out.’

               Harley groaned.  ‘Kid—’

               ‘I’m serious.  Get Ivy, and get your kid, and get out.’  Dick stepped back, his jaw set.  Slade was _not_ the Joker.  He _wasn’t_.  And—and even if Slade was a criminal, even if he was dangerous, even if he was an _abuser_ , Dick sure as all _fuck_ was not in love with him.  ‘This was a mistake.’

               ‘I bet you still wake up thinking he’s lying next to you,’ Harley said quietly.

               Dick’s stomach tightened, and he drew breath—

               ‘And you turn over in bed,’ Harley ploughed on, before he could interrupt, ‘and you reach across the covers and you’re disappointed when he’s not there.  And it _hurts_.’  She tapped her chest. ‘Right here, where the mating bond used to tie you together.  And as soon as it hurts, you feel guilty, because it _shouldn’t_.  You’re with someone better.  Someone safer.  Someone who actually cares about _you_ , instead of just owning you.  And you should be grateful, and you _are_ , but it still hurts.’

               It was a moment before Dick realised the rage had melted out of him.  He stood frozen in the doorway, staring back at Harley, and didn’t notice Alfred walking up the corridor until he reached the doorway.  At Dick’s baffled glance, Alfred lifted a silver tray, laid out with cups and saucers.

               ‘I bought tea and coffee.’  He glanced between Dick and Harley.  ‘Unless … you are leaving, Master Dick?’

               ‘No …’  Dick said slowly, stepping back to let Alfred inside.  ‘No, I’m not leaving.’  He swallowed, deflating.  ‘Tea sounds great Alfred.  Thanks.’

               Woodenly, he crossed the room to sit by Harley, who accepted a black coffee with mountains of sugar.  Dick took his tea as Alfred had conditioned him since he was eight years old—the British way, milk and no sugar.  Sipping it reminded him of rainy childhood afternoons studying in the library, catching up on schoolwork before donning his Robin uniform to stalk the streets as Batman’s shadow.

               Alfred glanced between them, and Dick wasn’t sure if he was worried or glad to see Dick and Harley side-by-side on the sofa.  Harley seemed—or pretended—not to notice.  Kicking her trainers off, she curled her feet up on the cushions, cupping both hands around her steaming coffee as Alfred made a polite exit from the room.

               ‘You’re better than I am,’ Dick murmured.  ‘The Joker’s still alive.  You could go back to him, if you wanted.’  He hunched over his tea.  ‘If Slade was alive …’

               Harley sipped her coffee, then tilted her head thoughtfully.  ‘Ivy helps.  Mating with her kinda … killed the bond between me and Mister J.  Not totally, but kinda.’  She snorted.  ‘Y’know, he sent me a card when Rosie was born?  Here.’  Setting her coffee down, she fished in her back pocket and tugged out a small, crumpled envelope.

               Dick took it, warily fingering around the anonymous stains.  He wriggled the card out from inside.  It looked like a typical Hallmark thing: shiny balloons surrounding blue and pink bubble writing.

_Hooray!  It’s a …_

               He opened the card.

_BOMB!_

               The word crossed both sides of the card.  Tiny red sticks of TNT, cut from card, bounced off the page on springs.  Scratchy handwriting in the corner read: _Congrats, Harl.  J._

               ‘It was full of glitter when I first opened it,’ Harley said.  ‘Sprayed all over the room.  Ivy was spitting fire.  I dunno, I think it’s kinda funny.’  She sighed, taking the envelope back from Dick.  ‘I cried for an hour after I got it.’

               She ran a finger over the edge of the card, then folded it up and stuffed it back in her pocket.

               ‘It can still feel it,’ Dick murmured into his tea.  He glanced up at Harley, then looked away.  ‘The mating bond.  Or, I guess, where it used to be.  It hurts all the time.  Every day.’

               Harley made a noise of sympathy.  Not pitying, but _I know how that feels_.

               Dick swallowed.  His throat felt dry.  Or like something was stuck in it, choking him.  ‘How long ’til it stops?’

               Harley sighed.  ‘I’ll keep you posted.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a little more to come. :)


	58. Chapter 58

It was the busiest Christmas Dick could remember since being in the circus.

               The Titans occupied almost every guestroom in the manor.  Wherever he wandered, Dick ran into _someone_ : Raven curled up by the window in the library, one book on her lap and a dozen more piled at her feet; Kid Flash running laps around a cheetah-shaped Beast Boy in the garden; Starfire elbow-deep in flour in the kitchen, Alfred eyeing her with suspicion in case she decided to add some creative Tamaranean flair to his classic gingerbread; Cyborg fawning over the computers in the Batcave, while Bruce stood back and only mostly hid his smug grin.  Harley and Ivy visited every other day, the former with piles of presents and cookies, and one bundled-up Rosie to play with Mar’i; the latter with sequiturs and a magic touch for the live Christmas tree in the living room, buried under glittering lights and baubles, which miraculously had not dropped a single needle.

               On Christmas morning, Dick woke up to soft, snowy light filtering through the curtains.  Mar’i slept in the bassinet beside his bed, breathing soft and even.  He trailed his hand over the edge of the bassinet, fingers straying just short of touching her cheeks.  Wanting to hold her, but not to wake her.

               ‘Merry Christmas,’ he mumbled into the pillow.

               He found Bruce and Alfred in the kitchen, sipping hot chocolates as they watched over an enormous turkey in the oven and the Titans outside, whose snowball fight was escalating towards nuclear annihilation.

               ‘If we see lasers,’ Dick said, hoisting Mar’i into her high chair, ‘we intervene.’

               Outside, snowballs blurred from Wally’s hands like bullets spraying from an automatic.  He crab-walked across the lawn, cackling, as the others screamed and took cover.

               ‘I’m not intervening with anything,’ Bruce said.  ‘If those kids start throwing lasers, I’m retreating to the Batcave and taking Mar’i with me.’

               Dick snorted.  ‘Coward.’

               ‘The clouds are coming in,’ Alfred said, cutting off Bruce’s retort.  He nodded at the greying sky.  ‘I do believe we’ll have a white Christmas.’

               ‘Weather report said there’d be a storm.’  Bruce plucked Mar’i’s strawberry yoghurt out of Dick’s hands, and pushed Dick towards the door.  ‘You should go out and enjoy the snow while you can.  I’ll do Mar’i’s breakfast.’

               Dick rolled his eyes.  ‘Bruce—’

               ‘No excuses.’  Bruce pushed him again, a little more firmly.  ‘I want time with my granddaughter, and you shouldn’t be stuck in here with us old boys.’

               ‘Thirty-five is hardly old,’ Dick snorted.  But he leaned in to kiss Mar’i’s cheek, and slipped out to grab his coat.

               He ducked a snowball the instant he stepped outside.  It splatted behind his head, rattling the door.  ‘Hey!’

               ‘Robin!’  Beast Boy screeched from the end of the garden, where he crouched with Starfire behind the snow-piled stone bench.  ‘Wally’s, like, undefeatable!  Take cover!’

               ‘Undefeatable, huh?’  Dick rolled back his sleeves.  ‘We’ll see about that.’

 

* * *

 

They came in an hour later, panting and flushed, shaking fresh snowflakes from their hair.  Outside, the snow blew in flurries, swirling around the garden, piling into the scuffed powder from the snowball fight.  The beginning of Bruce’s predicted storm.

               They gathered in the living room, where Bruce got a fire blazing while Beast Boy scampered round the Christmas tree in squirrel form, playing hide-and-seek with a shrieking, giggling Mar’i.

               ‘All right,’ Bruce said, pushing a safety grill over the crackling fire.  ‘I think we’ve got time for presents before lunch.’

               Within minutes, ribbons and paper littered the carpet.  Raven’s eyes gleamed at the packet of fancy teas Dick bought for her—Starfire gave him a subtle thumbs-up across the room; she’d helped pick the flavours.  Dick got a fancy new bo staff from Bruce, perfectly weighted and gleaming silver, with a faster extend-and-collapse mechanism that his last one.  And while Beast Boy nearly savaged a cackling Cyborg for buying him a spiky collar and dog bowl, he was delighted with the sled from Dick.

               ‘It’s incentive to come visit us in Gotham,’ Dick grinned.  ‘You don’t get snow in Jump.’

               ‘Dude, I’m never leaving!’

               Cyborg threw his hands up.  ‘Man, why didn’t you _tell_ me you were getting him a sled?  I’d have got a harness to go with that collar.’

               Beast Boy turned into a woodpecker, landed on Cyborg’s ear and drilled at the metal plate on his skull until Cyborg swatted him away.

               Mar’i amassed a veritable treasure trove of books, teddy bears, plastic toys and games.  She ignored them and stormed through the piles of shredded wrapping paper, scrunching it in her fists and cackling, waving the ribbons like glittery banners.  Dick managed to hold her still just long enough to wiggle a hand-crocheted pink bow—a gift from Harley—over her head.

               ‘Another one for you, Robin.’  Digging under the tree, Wally pulled out a brown square package and handed it to him over Mar’i’s head.

               ‘Thanks.’  Dick turned the package over.  Plain brown paper—no label.  Just his name, stamped across the front.  He looked up as he tore through the Sellotape.  ‘Who’s this from?’

               Beast Boy barely glanced up from his sled.  The others gave him frowns and shrugs.

               ‘OK.’  Dick rolled his eyes.  A gag gift, then, which none of them were owning up to.  At least not until he opened it.  ‘Secret Santa, I guess.’

               Outside, the wind roared around the house, snow battering the windows.

               Dick pulled the paper off his present.

               It wasn’t a gag gift.

               It was books.

               The first was _The Hound of the Baskervilles_.  It looked almost new—a burgundy hardback with shimmering gold letters on the cover.  But the pages were ruffled; clearly read before.  Dick’s stomach tightened.  This book … this _copy_ …

               He slipped it aside.  Saw the other book.

               And shot to his feet.

               Dropping both books, he swept Mar’i into his arms, and ran.

               The first book, he _thought_ he knew.  But it could’ve been a coincidence.  Anyone might send him _The Hound of the Baskervilles_.  It was famous.  A classic.  His favourite.

               But the salmon-pink copy of _Pregnancy Week By Week_ —

               Dick’s breath hitched.

               _He’s here.  He’s alive._

His feet pounded on the carpet, and then the wood flooring.

_No._

_No, no, no, no, no!_

               He burst through the front door.  Cold air hit him like a slap.  Mar’i yelped in his arms, burying her face in his neck.  He held her tighter, staggering out across the porch.  He gasped, heart hammering.  Because Slade—Slade— _Slade—_

               _He’ll take me away._

               Dick’s head spun.  He gripped Mar’i tighter as she squirmed, mumbling incoherent baby complaints as Dick pressed on out into the snow.  His legs shook.  Wind blasted through his jumper.  Tore at his hair like fingers.  Like Slade’s fingers, raking across his scalp, dragging his head back before he swept in for a kiss—

               Teeth at his throat and trapped in a car and a house in the woods ringed with glittering barbed wire and _can’t escape_ and Slade’s hands on his wrists, on his throat, and Slade buried inside him and growling and snarling and screaming and _the cure will kill Tadpole_ and _he raped me_ and can’t breathe—can’t breathe— _can’t breathe_ —

               ‘SLADE!’

               It didn’t even sound like his own voice.  Not really.  Raw and guttural and breaking with barely-held sobs.  Why wouldn’t he _show himself?_   If he was coming, let him come.  Dick would stop him.  He was strong now.  He could _fight._

               ‘SLAAADE!’

               Dick’s chest tightened.  He gasped, bowing over, arms shaking as Mar’i started to cry.  The sky overhead was dark and growing darker, the snow blowing so thick he couldn’t see the gate at the end of the drive.  He tumbled down the stairs and onto the lawn, snow seeping into his socks, wet and stinging-cold.  His lips burned and Mar’i was screaming now, wailing at the cold and at Dick’s shouting and the panic she could surely _feel_ , pulsing through his blood.

               And his chest—

               His chest _burned_.  Burned with a broken mating bond.  Burned as Dick felt, for the first time in so long, the chunk that Slade bit out of his heart.

               He was suffocating.  Falling.

               ‘Slade—’ Dick choked.  He turned on the spot.  He couldn’t see the gate or the house now.  Just white.  Endless, blurring white.

               A shape moved through the snow.  Distant.  Wavering.

               Dick clutched Mar’i to his chest.  ‘No,’ he moaned.  ‘No, Slade, _please_ , no …’

               The shape grow closer.  Darker.  And resolved—

               _Starfire._

               Dick collapsed into her.  She caught him, holding him and Mar’i both in warm, solid arms.  ‘Robin—’

               ‘He’s _here_ , Star,’ Dick gasped.  ‘He sent that package—he’s here—’

               Starfire’s eyes roamed his face, wide and pleading.  ‘Robin—no—’

               ‘Those were my books!  The books he gave me!  He’s going to take me away—to take _Mar’i_ away—’  Dick shuddered.  His chest was too tight.  He couldn’t draw in air.  ‘I can’t—breathe—’  He shuddered, dropping his head onto Starfire’s shoulder.  ‘Help,’ he gasped.  ‘Help me— _please._ ’

               Starfire hesitated.  Then she let out a slow, shaky breath.  Sliding her arm up Dick’s, she gripped his shoulder.  ‘It is all right.  Everything is all right.’

               She guided him through the snow, back up the steps onto the porch, inside the house.

               Alfred stood holding the door, Bruce a looming shadow behind him.  The Titans poked their heads through the living room door, eyes wide.  Starfire waved them aside, and drew Dick straight upstairs.  He staggered into his bedroom.  Laid Mar’i softly in her  bassinet.  Took a breath.

               And lunged for the wardrobe.

               He tore clothes out at random, barely looking.  Didn’t matter.  Didn’t matter what he grabbed.  He just needed to pack.  Now, fast, _hurry._   Before Slade—before _Slade_ —

               ‘Robin.’  Starfire’s voice was barely more than static.  ‘Robin, what are you doing?  Stop.’  She grew closer.  Louder.  ‘Stop, _stop!_ ’

               She caught his wrists as he dove at the wardrobe again, drawing him around to look at her.

               Dick tugged; she let him slip free.  ‘We have to run.  Slade knows where we are.’

               ‘Slade is dead.’

               She said it so softly.  Like the quiet touch of a snowflake.

               ‘No.’  Dick shook his head.  ‘He—he sent the books—’

               ‘That cannot be.’  Starfire stepped forward, touching his arm.  Gently, so gently.  Like he might bolt.  ‘He is _dead_ , Robin.  You saw it.  I saw it.  He is not coming back.’

               _The forest, the blood staining Slade’s shirt, and the gunshot—the gunshot that tore through Dick’s chest—that shattered the mating bond—_

               ‘But—’

               ‘Someone else sent those books,’ Starfire said.

               Dick shook his head.  ‘No!  No, there wasn’t—there wasn’t anybody—’

               _Sadie._

               The thought hit him like a punch in the gut.

               He hadn’t heard from her since Mar’i was born, that awful day in the cabin.  Perhaps she’d escaped.  Gone back to the house in the woods.

               He shook his head.  Impossible.  She’d been arrested.  He saw the monitor on her leg.  She’d be in prison by now.  Dick’s heart raced.  Which meant—there was no one—nobody else—

               Except—

               Another face flashed into his head.  A smiling face with red hair, in a black guard’s uniform.  Alf.  With his smile, and his kindness, and his fried egg, chilli, chutney sandwiches.

               He could easily have gone through the house, and found those books.  And of course he’d think to send them to Wayne Manor.  To Dick Grayson.  Not because he wanted to scare him, but because he thought Dick might want them back. 

 _The package was unsigned,_ a little, needling voice said in his head.

               But of course it was.  The cops were digging through everyone involved in the omega breeding programme.  Alf had a family— _Morning sickness?  My wife got it, too—_ and he’d truly believed he was doing the right thing.  If he didn’t want to sign the package, to lead the cops to his front door, could Dick really blame him?

               Dick squeezed his eyes closed.

               _Not Slade._

               _Not.  Slade._

               He took a slow, shuddering breath.  ‘Slade is … dead.’

               ‘Slade is dead.’  Starfire’s voice was firm, sure and steady.  ‘He cannot hurt you again.’

               And Dick believed it.

               He fell into her.  Starfire caught him, holding him tight as he gripped her, his fingers clenching in her jumper.  He took long, shuddering breaths.  When she lowered her head, her hair brushed his face and filled his nose with the sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo.  And it was so far from the salt and sweat smell of Slade’s body, Dick’s taut muscles went slack.

               Starfire rubbed up and down his back.  Then she reached up with one hand, weaving her fingers through Dick’s hair, her touch feather-soft.

               ‘I’m sorry,’ Dick croaked.

               ‘There is no need.’  She squeezed him, then gradually loosened her grip.  ‘When you first ran—when I heard you shouting for Slade—I was afraid.’  She flushed, glancing away.  ‘I was afraid you _wanted_ him to come.’

               Cold swept into Dick’s bones.

               _If Slade was still alive …_

               His first conversation with Harley, all those months ago.  She’d seemed so strong, to stay away from the Joker.  Stronger than he could ever be.  Because _if Slade was still alive …_

               _I’d have run._   Dick stared, bewildered, at the clothes piled haphazardly on his bed.  _I’d have taken Mar’i and run, and I wouldn’t have looked back, except to hope he wasn’t behind me._

               ‘No.’  Dick turned back to Starfire.  ‘No, I don’t.’

               She looked up at him, the smallest smile touching her lips.  Warm lips.  Lips he remembered the touch of, soft as petals on his skin.

               _I haven’t kissed her yet._

               He flexed his hands behind her back.  Ten months.  Ten months he’d been back in Wayne Manor, and he hadn’t so much as pecked her on the cheek.  Even as she curled next to him on the sofa; as she casually squeezed his hands when they passed; as her smile warmed him.

               ‘I missed you.’  He voice came out low and dry.  ‘Every day.’

               He stretched up and kissed her.

               She jolted, hands clenching in his t-shirt like she’d been electrocuted.  But then, gently, like she expected him to change his mind and run, Starfire settled her arms around his back.  And then pulled him closer, warm and safe and shielded.

               It didn’t last long, but it was soft, and sweet, and brought Dick back to Titan’s Tower.  Back when he only ever went by Robin.

               As they parted, a knock rattled the door.

               Bruce poked his head in.  ‘Dick?  Is everything … ?’

               ‘I’m OK.’  Dick swallowed, flush rising in his cheeks as he slipped out of Starfire’s arms.  ‘I just—I thought—’  He swallowed.  ‘I panicked.  But I’m OK.’

               He said it with conviction, and Bruce studied him for a long moment before nodding.  ‘Alfred says lunch is nearly done, if you’re ready.’

               ‘Sure.’  Dick let out a shaky breath.  ‘Sure.’  He hesitated, and just as Bruce began to move away, he added, ‘Bruce?  I need to look someone up in the Batcave.  To say thanks for the books.  His name was Alf.  He was one of the guards at—when I was—’  He straightened.  ‘He was good to me, but I think he might need some good lawyers pretty soon.’

               Bruce’s lip twitched.  ‘I think we can manage that.’  His gaze flicked to Starfire, then Mar’i, wriggling in her bassinet, and back to Dick.  ‘You sure everything’s OK?’

               ‘Yeah.’  Dick stretched his arm out, and Starfire curled her fingers in his.

               And he was sure.

               As sure as he’d ever been.

 

* * *

 

Christmas lunch was perfect, of course.  Golden turkey with crisp brown skin and sharp-sweet cranberry sauce; carrots glazed with honey and cauliflower drowned in cheese sauce and peas with butter and mint; powdery-white potatoes that melted in the mouth.  Wally ate three helpings—everyone else barely finished their first—and Beast Boy delightedly praised Alfred’s tofurkey while Cyborg rolled his eyes and clucked in disgust.  Mar’i ate the majority of her own lunch, and smeared the rest over her face.

               They migrated back to the living room for eggnog.  Dick curled up with Mar’i in his lap and read her new book to her—a riveting mystery titled _Where’s My Cow?_   Mar’i ignored the fluff and velvet stuck to the book’s pages in favour of screaming with laughter as Beast Boy transformed from one barnyard animal to another in tandem with Dick’s narration.

               The storm raged outside, but it was warm and cosy in the manor, and as the sky grew dark and Dick put Mar’i to bed, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this.  Like he was safe in a fortress that no monster could break through.

               He slipped down to the Batcave for a while, twirling the new bo staff Bruce had given him.  He hadn’t been here in a while.  Hadn’t had the energy, between Mar’i keeping him up all night, and recovering from the omega virus, and—

               Well.  Everything else.

               But the new bo staff was an excuse.  He slipped it round and round his fingers, weaving circles in the air, and then figure-of-eights.  He jabbed at an imaginary enemy, then twirled and brought the end of the staff down on another’s head.  Within minutes his arms were aching, his back sore, sweat dripping down his temples.  He was out of shape.  But that was nothing he couldn’t fix.  Now Mar’i was sleeping through the night, he could start training again.  Be a hero again.  Be someone she’d look up to.

               His stomach clenched.  Going out.  Leaving Mar’i behind …

               He lowered the staff, clicking the button to retract it back into the handle.  It really was fast.

               He sighed.

               ‘Need a sparring partner?’

               Dick whirled.  Bruce grinned from the shadows, only visible by the white gleam of his teeth.  He stepped into the light, shoes clicking on the stone as he walked up to meet Dick in the sparring ring.

               ‘Right now, you’d kick my ass.’  Dick shrugged.  ‘But gimme a couple of weeks and I’ll take you up on that.’

               ‘Sounds good to me.’  Bruce folded his arms, still smiling.  ‘Gotham won’t know what hit it.’

               Dick faltered, tossing the bo handle from palm-to-palm.  ‘I dunno about that.’  He swallowed.  ‘With Mar’i …’

               He glanced up, expecting Bruce’s disappointed glare.  Instead, Bruce stared away up into the cave, thoughtful.  High above, bats rustled in the cool darkness.

               ‘I know what you mean,’ Bruce sighed.  ‘Going out on patrol as a parent … it’s different.  You think differently.’  He glanced back at Dick, and his lip twitched.

               ‘If something happened to me …’ Dick shook his head.  ‘I couldn’t do that to Mar’i.  I don’t know how I’d even get my feet out the door.’

               ‘Well,’ Bruce mused, ‘I suppose you go out of your way to make sure you’ll always come back.’  He clapped Dick on the back.  ‘Come on.  Wally and Beast Boy have picked a movie they assure me is a classic.  Apparently that means multiple explosions.’

               Dick laughed, and followed Bruce out the Batcave and back into the warmth of Wayne Manor.

               The rest of Christmas day was the golden glow of the fire; the flat screen TV; marshmallows melted on sticks and Starfire’s warm body curled up against his, her arm around his shoulders and her fingers laced through his.  Outside, the storm battered the windows and piled snow over the gardens, howling and furious, but tomorrow it would just be fuel for the morning’s snowball fight.

               They tiptoed up to bed late, and when Starfire squeezed his hand and wished him goodnight, Dick whispered, ‘Stay with me?’

               She smiled.  ‘Give me a moment.’

               She slipped away and he changed into warm pyjamas, moving silently in the dark so as not to wake Mar’i.  Dick fell into bed and was half-asleep already when Starfire crept in, bundled in a soft dressing gown and smelling of toothpaste.  She slid into bed beside Dick and held him.  His best friend.  His alpha …

               He smiled faintly into the pillow.  Plenty of time for that.  Plenty of years ahead.  Years of watching Mar’i grow, and having Bruce on his left and Starfire on his right and the Titans at his back.  And Slade …

               Slade behind him.  Maybe a stain, or a scar, or maybe just a blank white space in Dick’s heart.  A space that was healing.  Not torn open but knitting together, like so many wounds from so many battles that had never stopped Dick from getting up and throwing another punch.

               Dick closed his eyes, buried his face in the crook of Starfire’s neck, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this chapter!
> 
> Thank you everyone so much for reading. You've all been incredibly kind and supportive, and I can't even explain how much it blows my mind that there are people out there who actually enjoy my ridiculous fanfic. Thank you thank you thank you. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Now I'm going to go lie down in a dark room ... and think about what I want to write next. :p


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